Hospital life in the Army of the Potomac

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.

Class

HOSPITAL LIFE

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,

BY

WILLIAM HOWELL REED.
I

BOSTON:'
SPECIAL EDITION.

1891.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 189B, Dy

WILLIAM HOWELL EEED,
LJ Uw Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Mauach

TO

HON. FRANK B. FAY,

THE HUMANE AND CHRISTIAN GENTLEMAN,
THE FRIEND OF THE SOLDIER, IN CAMP

AND IN HOSPITAL,
AND OF THE SUFFERING EVERYWHEBE,

THIS BOOK
18 GRATEFULLY LVSCRIBED.

225805

PREFACE.

THE writer has tried to avoid in this little book a too highly-
colored picture of hospital life. He has rather aimed to present a
sketch which should have the merit of simplicity and accuracy even
in its minor details, with a full sense of his obligations to the cause of
historical truth.

The manuscript was not written, in the first instance, for publica
tion, but to preserve, for the writer's own satisfaction, a record of a
valuable personal experience. As it .grew under his hand, old mem
ories were quickened, old companionships seemed to be renewed,
former scenes were revived, and the splendid examples of heroism
which were daily and hourly witnessed kindled an impulse which has
resulted in this work. Yielding to the judgment of his friends, he
submits it to the public, asking for it a kindly reception.

W. H. R.

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.

THE author would express, in a new preface, his grateful surprise
at the cordial reception and words of appreciation which have been
accorded to these memories of hospital life. And although the book
is but an outline of a profound experience, and is valuable to the
author only as an outline, he cannot be insensible to the kindlv criti
cism it has received. In writing, now that these events have passed
into history, the memories of that period of suffering and triumph
have become hallowed memories: hallowed, indeed, with peculiar
sacredness, from the recent death of one who was so much a part of
those years of sacrifice, that the preface would naturally become a
memorial of the sweet ministry of HELEN L. GILSON.

But she would deprecate many words of eulogy ; and there should
be a reverential regard for her preference, that we should stand silent
over her grave.

That she lives in human hearts, is better than eulogy; that her
example is an inspiration, is a grander triumph of her life than any
memorial of it could be; and the author is gr;»teful that he has had
the opportunity in these pages of making even a brief record of such
a ministry.

W. H. R.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
WASHINGTON TO FREDERICKSBURG.

The Wilderness Campaign opened.— General Grant at the Helm.

— The Sanitary Commission organized for the Relief of the /
Wounded. — They arrive in Washington. — Scenes on the Steam
ers. — Belle Plain. — Dr. Cuyler, Chief Medical Officer. — Burial
of the Dead from an Ambulance. — Confederate Prisoners. — The
Night Encampment.— The City of Frederick sburg I

CHAPTER II.

SCENES IN FREDERICKSBURG.

Ninth Corps Hospital. — Marie's Heights. — Buildings filled with
Wounded. — Adoniram Cookson, and other Cases of Interest. —
Indian Sharpshooters. — Last Words. — The Wounded on the
Lawn. — A Day of Horrors. — Reenfor cements from Washington.

— Flowers strewing their Way to Victory. — The Battle. — The
Roses stained with Blood. — Encampment of Ambulances. —
Night Work on the Field. — Removal and Burial of the Dead. —
The Baptism under the Ambulance. — Helen L. Gil son. — Evacu
ation of Fredericksburg. — " Torpedo Hooker."— The Guerrillas.

(5)

O t««« t . CONTENTS.

— Down the Rappahannock. — Hospital Work on the " Kent." —
Mr. and Mrs. James F. B. Marshall 23

CHAPTER III.
RAPPAHANNOCK AND PAMUNKY.

Port Royal. — Tropical Luxuriance. — Virginia Mocking Birds.—
Fire ! — The Negroes. — Their Day of Jubilee. — The Contraband
Barge. — Their Evening Hymn. — Miss Gilson's Address.—
White House.— Arrival of the Tenth and Eighteenth Corps.—
The Fortieth Massachusetts. — Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall.—
The Battle of Cold Harbor. — The Field of Carnage. — Horrors
of Ambulance Transportation. — Field Hospital at White House.

— Eight Thousand Wounded. — The Death of Mrs. General Bar
low 45

CHAPTER IV.
THE SANITARY COMMISSION.

What becomes of its Money ? — Its Operation at F'redericksburg.

— Hospital Issues. — The Work of the Commission. — Its En
largement as the War went on. — The Death Rates of the Army
contrasted with the English in the Crimea. — General Relief. —
Special Relief. — The Auxiliary Relief Corps. — Its Organization.

— Personal Relief. — Hon. Frank B. Fay. — Relief Chests. — Their
Contents 61

CHAPTER V.
A WOMAN'S MINISTRY.

The Battle of Petersburg. — The Colored Hospital at City Point.—
Hospital Kitchens in Virginia and the Crimea. — Her Influence in
the Wards. . 8fl

CONTENTS. 7

CHAPTER VI.
CITY POINT FIELD HOSPITALS.

City Point. - Medical Director, Dr. Edward B. Dalton. — General
Grant. — Negroes' Evening Service. — Sermon of a Colored Ser
geant Q0

CHAPTER VII.
THE SILENT SORROWS AT HOME.
The Village Post-office. — Soldier's Letter. — The unknown Dead.

— The lonely Italian, Giovanni Quaglia. — Italian Letters. ... 102

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BULL-RING.

The Picturesque in the Hospital. — Scenes in the Wagon Train
Hospital. — The Sixth Corps. — Their Bivouac.— The Bull-Ring.

— Sufferings of the Prisoners. — Their Destitution. — Their Wants
supplied.— Men under Sentence of Death 119

CHAPTER IX.
CHARACTERS IN THE HOSPITAL.

Arrival of the Wounded. — Last Words. — The New Hampshire
Soldier. — The Colored Drummer Boy. — Tender Spots. — The
Vermont Soldier. — Influence of Suffering.— Hospital Bummers.

— Track, the Maine Artillerist. — A German Soldier of the Third
Generation. — Cheerfulness in the Hospital. — The Death of Hart-
man.— Comfort-Bags.— Washing for the Hospitals. — Contra
band Camp

8 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER X.

ACTIVE OPERATIONS.

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE. — Grant's Closing Campaign.
Recapitulation of Movements. — Petersburg. — Southside Rail
road.— -Ewell's Corps captured. — Confederate Generals Ewell,
Kershaw, and Custis Lee. — Their Bivouac. — Woodbridge, the
Georgia Soldier 156

CHAPTER XI.
SUFFERINGS AT BURKS VILLE.

Scarcity of Surgeons. — Scenes among the Wounded.— Engrossing
Experiences. — Overcrowded Sheds and Railroad Buildings. —
Amputations in the Field. — Wounded transferred to City Point.
— Suffering on the Trains. — Preparation for Death. — Return of
the Army 1W

CHAPTER XII.

PETERSBURG HOSPITALS.

CLOSING SCENES. — The Fair Grounds. — Contrasts. — The Bloom
ing Gardens of Petersburg. — Mr. J. W. Paige, Jr.— His Work
at the Fair Grounds. — Gangrene Ward.— The Rebel Soldier. —
His Sufferings and Death. — The Blue Ward. — The Dying Mary-
lander.— Edward Morley, the Massachusetts Soldier. — Colonel
Prentiss 176

CHAPTER XIII.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Effect of the Assassination in the Army. — His Character and Po

sition In History.

HOSPITAL LIFE

IN THE

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC

CHAPTER I.

WASHINGTON TO FREDERICKSBURG.

The Wilderness Campaign opened. — General Grant at the Helm.
— The Sanitary Commission organized for the Relief of the
Wounded. — They arrive in Washington. — Scenes on the Steam
ers. — Belle Plain. — Dr. Cuyler, Chief Medical Officer. — Burial
of the Dead from an Ambulance. — Confederate Prisoners. —
The Night Encampment. — The City of Fredericksburg.

rMHE winter of eighteen hundred and sixty-four had
JL passed, the buds and leaves of another spring
time were opening, and we were entering upon the
fourth year of the war. For the first time in its
history the military power had been placed under one
directing mind, General Grant having been made
1* W

10 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Lieutenant General of the Armies of the United States,
For many weeks it had been apparent that a strong
hand was at the helm. New dispositions were made,
a thorough reorganization was effected, and confidence
pervaded the public mind. Few, out of the army,
realized how tremendous the shock of battle would be,
while the Medical Department was preparing for such
work as had never before taxed its energies.

The Army of the Potomac was massed near Cul-
pepper Court House and Brandy Station, their pickets
extending to the Rapidan. On the night of Tuesday,
the 3d of May, 1864, the army was thrown across the
river, the Second Corps by way of United States Ford,
and the Fifth and Sixth Corps by way of Germania
Ford. The next day, Wednesday, was consumed in
bringing the corps into line. The Second, which was
to form the left of the army, and had to march in rear
of the Fifth and Sixth, was not quite in position on
the left of Warren on Thursday morning. The Ninth
Corps was brought over on Wednesday and Thursday.
The crossing was effected without opposition, and prob
ably without the knowledge of the enemy ; but no
sooner did General Lee obtain information that the
army had crossed, than he at once moved to attack it,
before the line could be formed, and with the object,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 11

doubtless, also, of preventing us from reaching Spott-
sylvania Court House before him. He therefore, by
one of his rapid and skilful movements, assumed the
offensive ; but after two days of heavy fighting, he
took the defensive, and pursued that policy to the end.
The battles of the Wilderness had been fought on
Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, the 5th, 6th, and 7th
of May. Accounts of the fearful losses had been
telegraphed to our cities ; fresh reinforcements were
ordered, and volunteers for both the Sanitary and the
Christian Commissions were going forward to the
front to assist in the emergency. The wounded had
not reached Washington, but were hourly expected.
It was Monday night, the 9th instant. In temporary
sheds at the Seventh Street Landing the Sanitary
Commission were organizing for the prompt relief of
those who were so soon to need their care. Crackers,
lemons, cans of coffee, milk, and stimulants were at
hand. At midnight we were in our blankets for an
hour's rest ; but the hoarse cry of the watchman,
" Steamers in sight ! " brought us to our feet, and
before they were at the wharf, our coffee, milk punch,
gruel, and beef-tea were ready. Six hundred men
were stowed upon the first steamer. It was as dark
as a sepulchre — as silent as the grave. An occasional

12 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

moan would call attention to some sufferer who could
not sleep, his only pallet, a wisp of straw, upon the
deck. The men were packed so closely that it was
only with extreme caution that we could pass from
stem to stern without jarring some shattered limb or
suppurating stump. Our flickering candle gave a
ghastly pallor to the pinched and suffering faces, and
a sickening reality to the torn and clotted garments
which covered throbbing wounds. Sharp cries, from
time to time, came through the darkness, telling us
that, in moving about the boat, somebody had been
careless in his step, and put some poor fellow in deeper
pain. The sufferings of the ambulance transportation,
the exposures at Belle Plain, where the wounded were
without shelter in a soaking rain, and the silent en
durances of this crowded steamer, made our ministry
one of healing mercy and Christian love. The men
were nearly famished, and, as we moved among them
with our cans of coffee, punch, and lemonade, their
brimming eyes and swelling hearts spoke more elo
quently of gratitude than any words could do. The
steamer was rapidly discharged, the men passing out
in long lines to the ambulances waiting to transfer
them to their hospital beds, where rest and all healing
influences would soon be employed in their restoration.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 13

As they passed along, those on the stretchers, and the
lighter cases alike, would hold up their poor, dumb
wounds for a cooling bath, which we gave " in the
name of a disciple."

Before the first steamer was discharged, others were
waiting at the landing with their living freights, a
total of twenty-nine hundred wounded men, to whom
this ministry was to be repeated. The same crowded
decks, the same processions of sufferers, the same quiet
endurances, all day long ; the hard, sharp lines about
the mouth, and the sunken eye, showing endurance of
pain and an unwillingness to intrude it upon others.
Reverently we covered some poor fellow with his
blanket, his only shroud, as he was taken out dead
from where they had laid him, his comrades thinking
by his stillness that he was only " taking rest in sleep,"
not knowing that he had entered upon his eternal rest.

With Mr. and Mrs. James F. B. Marshall, of Bos
ton, I started down the Potomac for Belle Plain, on
our way to Fredericksburg. With a regiment of
infantry and a battery of artillery, our decks were
crowded ; but our destination was reached at last ; arid
here we found the base of the army. A simple beach,
with richly-wooded hills, rose abruptly from the water,
from which long piers, hastily extemporized out of

14 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

pontoon boats, ran out into the river, where seventy-
five steamers and transports were unloading supplies
or landing the reinforcements which were pouring
down from the defences of Washington. Long wagon
trains were moving off loaded with commissary sup
plies and ammunition for the new fields of carnage in
prospect, while other trains of wagons and ambulances
were coming in, discharging the wounded upon the
ground, where they were to lie without shelter until
transportation to Washington could be furnished them.
Heavy rains had made of this soft Virginia soil
sloughs of mud up to the wheel hubs ; and the roads
would have been considered impassable in any other
than such circumstances of fearful necessity. Three
or four thousand wounded had been discharged, and
the numbers were every hour increasing. News also
came of another train, three miles in length, now due
from Fredericksburg. We could not feed them all ;
we could not dress their wounds ; we could not help
the dying ; we could not minister those consolations
which are so precious in such cases to those who
needed outwardly all our care. We could only do a
little, and, in this vast aggregate of suffering, how
trifling this little seemed ! A kitchen was hastily
established; our stores were ample — coffee, milk,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 15

whiskey, sugar, lemons, and crackers ; and, having an
abundance of wood and good spring water, we were
soon ready to move among the men with soothing
drinks, which gave them at the same time new
strength and courage. The rain kept pouring down
upon these shelterless thousands ; the ground was like
a sponge. Fires were started upon the hill side, and
in the evening they were gleaming in their cheerful
warmth, while the wounded were accepting their lot
with a patience which was a new revelation every
hour. When a slice of bread was offered to a soldier
suffering from an amputation, he said, " Pass it along ;
he needs it more than I do," pointing to a comrade
near him, who had not tasted food for days. The
noble fellow lost nothing by his willing sacrifice.
Such was the spirit of our wounded men.

In this tremendous activity and effort, where such
miracles of labor were performed in a space so narrow
that two ambulances could not move abreast, all
seemed to be in inextricable confusion. In the river
were barges, steamers, propellers, and transports —
some at anchor, some discharging, some arriving, some
departing, and all jammed together in confusion, which
was increased by the blowing of the whistles and the
roar of escaping steam; while on shore were tired

16 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

mules and broken-down horses, army wagons and am
bulances, stuck hopelessly in the mud, all a surging,
concentrated mass of intense activity and suffering.

Dr. Cuyler, the chief medical officer at this point,
was the directing mind, evolving order out of chaos,
and harmony out of this terrible discord and disorder.
With grateful feelings I look back upon his benevolent
countenance, his noble form, and his well-balanced
mind, as he sat upon his horse, calm and unmoved,
patient and resolute, giving his orders with a quiet
dignity and composure which carried strength and con
fidence with every word. His kindliness and courtesy
in such an hour to a stranger, who felt it to be neces
sary to intrude upon him with an order for transporta
tion, will ever be remembered. An ambulance was
placed at my disposal, and within a few hours I had
joined a train which was moving towards Fredericks-
burg.

Halting for dinner a few miles out, the train parked,
and the horses were rested and fed. While we biv
ouacked, a man, who had just died, was taken from
an ambulance which was passing in from the front,
and was laid by the road side. The drivers could find
no time to bury him ; but it was impossible to leave
that unknown soldier, upon whose face were written the

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 17

untold sufferings of the ambulance, to be trampled
upon by passing trains. Procuring a spade, I dug
into the soggy, sandy soil bordering the Potomac, soon
making for him his narrow home. In his pocket was
only a photograph of a little infant, which showed that
there was one tie at least to bind him to this world.
Placing it upon his breast, and covering it with his
blouse, he was laid down to rest. Gathering about me
a crowd of men, — soldiers, teamsters, and others, — I
performed my first funeral service by that river side,
commending the soul to the care of an all-loving, all-
merciful God.

At sunset we camped for the night. Before the
camp was settled, a large body of rebel prisoners, of
Johnson's Division, by count ninety-four hundred and
fifty-three men, captured by Hancock's Second Corps
at Spottsylvania, came in sight, moving slowly under
guard, filling the roads, shambling rather than walk
ing, with a step so irresolute, and with strength so
exhausted, that we could not help mingling pity with
our triumph.

The Confederate soldier, — it is difficult to describe
him, yet we can all recognize the yellowish-gray
homespun, torn and threadbare ; the bleached, grizzly,
uncut hair and beard, the sallow countenance, the

18 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

scant equipments, the lean, wiry look, and air of reck
less defiance or careless superiority, which is always
assumed when passing under Northern scrutiny.
u We uns caught it from you uns ; but look right
sharp for the Johnnies next time," said one to me in
passing, while there was doubtless not a little quiet
satisfaction that they had so far in the campaign
escaped unhurt, and were now removed from Yankee
lead. They were strictly guarded, and at night were
enclosed in a hollow square, defended by artillery, so
parked that, upon an attempt to escape, grape and can
ister would have made sad work with their compacted
mass.

Our ambulance train was four miles long, and we
were halted upon an eminence which commanded a
fine rolling country, richly wooded hills, and quiet val
leys, which, as night closed in, were brilliantly illumi
nated with the thousand camp fires that were burning
all about us. Our own fires were lighted ; our coffee
was boiling ; and our pork and hard tack were never
so acceptable as now, when we rested from this day of
unusual excitement and fatigue. The chill evening air
compelled us to draw closer to the embers, and we
were soon lost in sleep. The guerrilla bands operating
in the rear of the army had attacked a train the

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 19

previous day, run off the horses, scattered the unarmed
drivers, and fired upon our already wounded men.
Our picket guard exchanged frequent shots with this
unseen enemy during the night, but the dawn found us
fresh and ready to move forward into Fredericksburg.
This city lies in a valley between two fine ranges of
hills, known respectively as the Heights of Falmouth,
on the northern bank of the Rappahannock, and the
Maries, outside the limits of the town, on the southern
side. Embosomed in this fertile lowland, its steeples
were visible only when we approached quite near them,
the unevenness of the country preventing any distant
view of the place. The houses are of brick, dark,
rough, and much shattered by shot and shells ; the
architecture is quaint, and the general air is that of
ancient respectability. It has none of the activity of
Richmond, nor the beauty of Petersburg ; and although
the movements of the hospital department gave to the
city a certain life, yet the crumbling town, deserted by
its population, ruined by the conflicts which had twice
raged through its streets, gave it an appearance of
death, from which it seemed that there could be no
resurrection. We reached the pontoon bridge and
crossed it. The ruins on the banks of the river told
the story of the destruction, by our forces, of the

20 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

hiding-places of the sharpshooters that contested the
passage of our pioneers, who, in Burnside's first attack,
drove the enemy into their intrenched position beyond
the town. The buildings were rapidly becoming ap
propriated for temporary hospitals, the Medical Direct
or. Dr. Edward B. Dalton, having taken possession
of public edifices and private dwellings, storehouses,
sheds, and churches. The pews wrere torn out, and
the wood used for fires in the kitchens ; but the
wounded were arriving in such numbers, that they
were laid in the streets and upon the sidewalks to wait
for shelter to be provided. Ambulance trains moving
into or passing out of the city ; ammunition or com
missary wagons creeping slowly on the front ; orderlies
dashing from post to post ; stretchers with dead car
ried out for burial, or with wounded taking their places
for nursing, — all was ceaseless activity and accumu
lated suffering.

The gardens were fragrant and blooming with flow
ers. Roses, honeysuckles, tulips, columbines, and
stars of Bethlehem were growing in luxuriant pro
fusion along every street, and were hanging in graceful
clusters over the now deserted verandas. The red
flag of the Sanitary Commission was seen in the dis
tance, and we reached its warehouse, the store of

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 21

Mayor Slaughter, who had but then been arrested by
the Provost Guard. Our party of three reported to
Hon. Frank B. Fay, of Chelsea, Massachusetts, the
chief of the Auxiliary Relief Corps; and we were
assigned to the Ninth Corps Hospitals, reporting to
Dr. Noyes, on Marie's Heights, just outside the city.
Every house or place of shelter within a radius of half
a mile of the central building was taken and used as a
hospital. In mansions of the grandest proportions, in
leaky sheds and outhouses crumbling to decay, in
rooms, entries, attics, and upon porticos, our wounded
men were laid. We were thankful even for floors to
place them upon, and this without a single blanket to
soften a couch which at best was -to be one of so much
pain. Among these houses was the Rowe mansion,
occupied by the owner, an old man, whose sympathies
were clearly with the rebel cause. His cellar at night
was a rendezvous for the guerrillas, who held their
secret meetings there, planning for the recapture of the
town with all our wounded. This house was our head
quarters, and we felt that we were living over a pow
der mine, which at any moment might explode.

We found here a delicate woman and her little
child : it was announced to her that her house must be
used as a hospital, two rooms being retained by her.

22 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

She was asked to prepare some dinner for our party,
and was promised that we should cause her as little
trouble as possible. The poor woman burst into tears,
saying, " Indeed, indeed, sir, I have nothing in the
house but a little corn meal for myself and this little
one ; " and her story of extreme poverty was only too
true. From affluence and a luxurious home, she had
been reduced to this, and, as we afterwards knew, was
even suffering for want of food.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.

CHAPTER II.

SCENES IN FEEDEEICKSBURO.

Ninth Corps Hospital. — Marie's Heights. — Buildings filled with
Wounded. — Adoniram Cookson, and other Cases of Interest. —
Indian Sharpshooters. — Last Words. — The Wounded on the
Lawn. —A Day of Horrors. — Reenforoements from Washington.
— Flowers strowing their Way to Victory. — The Battle. — The
Roses stained with Blood. — Encampment of Ambulances. —
Night-work on the Field. — Removal and Burial of the Dead. —
The Baptism under the Ambulance. — Helen L. Gilson. —
Evacuation of Fredericksburg. — " Torpedo Hooker." — The
Guerrillas. — Down the Rappahannock. — Hospital Work on the
" Kent." — Mr. and Mrs. James F. B. Marshall.

INTO the days which followed were concentrated
more vital experiences than usual in an ordinary
lifetime ; hours prolonged into days, and days into
months of suffering. The accumulating wants of our
men daily called me to the central storehouse of the
Commission, where the liberal supplies which were
received by the Sanitary wagon trains were as liberally
dispensed on requisitions suggested by the most press-

24 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

ing needs of the moment. Our principal hospital
building was situated directly on Marie's Heights, and
was a large and elegantly-finished dwelling, the man
sion of John L. Marie, from whose name these heights
are known, — the house now ruined by the plunging
shot and exploding shells during the battle of Decem
ber, 1862, which had opened great holes in its walls,
tearing away partitions, cutting through the roof, rip
ping off the rich mouldings and ornaments over the
windows, which again were shattered by the concus
sion of artillery.

In one corner, upon a stretcher, lay a soldier, whose
open, manly face, high forehead, and clear, intelli
gent eye, bespoke an excellent character. He was
wounded through the lungs, and breathed only with
sharp stitches of pain. I recall his cheerful courage,
his pleasant companionship, his bright smile, which
seemed to me to light up that room of suffering and
death with a radiance from the other world. In all
the crowding memories which come back to me, his
face is clearly photographed upon my mind ; and I have
only now to wonder whether, in our hurried evacua
tion, his life was sacrificed by the necessity of the
removal from the tender mercies of a merciless enemy.
But I know from the calm, even triumphant, faith with

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 25

which he endured his sufferings, that he was prepared
ioi whatever the kindly providence of God should send.

Near him was a most hopeless and pitiful case — a
lad, Adoniram Cookson, wounded in the back by a
shell. He was a mere boy, not over fifteen, so
pinched, and thin, and delicate in frame, that I could
easily have carried him in my arms ; and his face had
grown prematurely old with suffering. The only po
sition in which he could rest was upon his elbows and
knees, and he turned helplessly from side to side,
moaning and talking in a wild delirium. I cannot
forget his utterly hopeless look in his moments of
sanity, the eyes and face so wan and worn with days
and nights of agony. The poor boy slept at last his
long and quiet sleep, and was buried in the newly-
made cemetery, which increased with fearful rapidity
every day. We covered his lonely resting-place with
flowers.

Another lad, in the corner, was propped up by a
bed-rest, and was slowly wasting away. We kept
him alive with stimulants, and could not but feel that
even this effort was a mockery. He wras already
such a wreck his former companions could hardly
have recognized him. He was always uncomplaining,
could never express too much gratitude for all our
2

26 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

care, although he knew he was past all healing ; and
at last, when it became necessary to move him , the
good angels took him gently to the loving Father's
arms.

Upon this same floor, only a little apart from the
rest, in a store-room, lay a soldier in the last agonies
of death — a poor, mutilated remnant of a man, and a
most loathsome sight. His case was too bad to be
placed with others, and he was laid carefully upon
such ragged garments as we could collect for a bed,
not enough to keep his shattered frame from the floor,
though perhaps he had not sufficient feeling left to be
aware of its hardness. It was always a relief, when
morning came, to know that the spirits of such as
these had passed on "over the river" to the fairer
fields beyond.

Even the entries of this old mansion were crowded
with sick and dying men. No available space was
left unoccupied. The poor fellows just arrived had
not had their clothes oif since they were wounded, and
were sleeping in blood and filth, and were swarming
with vermin. They lay as close as they could be
packed, the contaminated air growing worse every
hour. The openings in the torn and battered walls
assisted somewhat in ventilation ; they were needed

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 27

and welcome breathing-holes. And so from room to
room, from entry to entry, all was still, and dark, and
ghastly. Pallid faces, or bronzed faces, with eager
eyes, looked up in melting thankfulness, sometimes
turning, in their unrest, to change a position which was
wearing them to the bone, and to pray for a sleeping
powder, which for this night at least should give them
relief in unconsciousness. " It is so hard to hear the
hours strike ! " said one to me ; " and yet the night
must wear slowly on." Here side by side they lay,
through long days and longer nights of suffering, with
no sound but the clock, the stifled moan, or the deliri
ous muttering. The air was so close and nauseating
that we often reeled with faintness at our work, while
these poor fellows waited and bore all their burden in
a brave endurance that was like a miracle.

In a group of four Indian sharpshooters, in one
corner of this entry, each with the loss of a limb, of
an arm at the shoulder, of a leg at the knee, or with
an amputation of the thigh, never was patience more
finely illustrated. They neither spoke nor moaned,
but suffered and died, making a mute appeal to our
sympathy, and expressing both in look and manner
their gratitude for our care.

William H. Chambers, whose noble, athletic frame

28 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

was paralyzed by a spinal wound, prefers a stretcher
in the open air to the close and crowded rooms, and
lies helpless and alone upon the lawn. There was a
touching contrast between the poor, wrecked body and
the bright, clear intellect which seemed to be burning
like a flame. Vigorous in thought, quick in memory,
quiet and calm in conversation, he was a strong man
in all but his shattered body, which was fast sinking to
decay and death. He knew he could not live, and he
did not wish to live to be a burden to his friends ; and
as we were about to move him to the steamer, he died,
leaving messages for those at home, and welcoming the
change as a bright angel of relief, with perfect trust
fulness. I was strangely drawn to him, and could not
resist the inspiration of his gentle, kindly spirit, which
could look so bravely upon death, and speak so calmly
and without fears of those far away who would so
mourn for him. Yet his death was a relief to all —
to him and to us, who felt that life prolonged would
be to him a lingering misery.

One soldier (I can never forget his simple, earnest
faith) asked me to stop and talk with him. A dis
charge of grape and shrapnel through his leg had
shattered it from thigh to foot ; and as the wound was
fatal, an amputation was deemed unnecessary. The

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 29

poor man knew his end was near ; yet his strength
was not quite gone, and he had much to say of his
wife and his poor crippled boy, and he asked me to
write to them for him. He told me his motive for
entering the army, of his pleasant home among the
Green Mountains of Vermont, and of his great sacri
fice. He had been, in his earlier days, a minister of
the Methodist faith, and, later, the editor of a paper,
which had taken its stand boldly and freely for the
principles at stake in the great contest. He dropped
his pen and shouldered his musket when the call for
men had come ; and his life and service in the army
had been a sincere, religious offering. He had a fine,
clear eye, a calm forehead, with thin gray hair, sil
vered by care and suffering. As I sat on the floor
with his hand in mine, I found his extremities grow
ing cold, and the film gathering over his eyes. From
his whispered words I found that he realized that the
angel was hovering over him. I cut a lock of his
hair, and the smile which lighted up his face showed
me that he was aware of it, and knew that it was the
last token we could send to his wife and children. His
breathing ceased ; and placing my hand upon the noble
heart, I found it still.

The last words of one of these heroic men were

30 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

very striking, and worth a record here. He was
wounded in the groin, and had been lying for seven
days with no possible hope of recovery, and with very
little relief. In reply to a question about his burial,
he said, " Put upon me a clean, white shirt ; wash
and shave me, and put two white roses in my hands."
Then he added to those who were standing over him,
"Boys, keep on fighting for the flag; bear all things
and suffer all 'things, but never give it up." His
request was fulfilled, even to the roses, and his grave
was strewed with flowers.

Monday, the 23d of May, 1864, was a most lovely
day. The breeze came fresh and cool from the north ;
the air was pure and clear ; the sky perfectly cloud
less, and of an intense azure, disclosing u the blue
depths of heaven." It was a day for the convales
cents, and it seemed as if those who were near to
death must be revived by the delicious softness of the
bracing air. We moved them out of the stifling
rooms to the lawn. Under a grand old oak, whose
spreading branches gave shelter to nearly fifty men,
was a Massachusetts lad, Joseph White, whose case
for many days I had watched with the strongest inter
est. His wound seemed not dangerous, only painful ;
it was in the arm, under the shoulder. He was always

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 31

cheerful ; and in his place, next the door, I knew
where to look for a kindly greeting whenever I entered
the room where he lay. He had been sadly weakened
by hemorrhage, but was hopeful that within ten days
he should be at home under his mother's care, and he
wanted me to write to her. Taking pen and paper, at
his dictation I wrote a most comforting letter to his
home ; it was full of hopes and plans. He felt as
sure of life as any of us who ministered to him, while
he was in reality at the brink of an open grave. I left
him for an hour, hardly out of sight, and still at work
among his companions, who seemed to need care even
more than he ; when, turning, I noticed an extreme
pallor upon his face. He had just realized that a
hemorrhage, which was then beginning, would soon
place him beyond all human aid. An artery had
been eaten away in process of healing, and he was
bleeding to death. There was no help, and he knew
it ; but he was as calm and resigned as when he
thought that he had long life before him. It was most
touching to see how bravely he could look at those
oozing drops, which every instant told his approach
nearer and nearer to the other world. The letter was
still unsealed, and he asked me to add a postscript ;
then, in a deeply solemn voice, he prayed, " Lord, bless

32 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

me ! " and passed on where all is blessing, joy, and
peace.

In the mean time fierce conflicts were going on, The
wounded from the Wilderness and Spottsylvania weic
daily swelling the numbers of our patients. /One am
bulance and wagon train, which reached the Heights,
discharged their living freights of five hundred wounded
men upon the ground, there being no nook nor corner
of shelter in any building in the town. We were
almost overwhelmed by the acciimulated work which
every hour seemed to be bringing to us. Surely such
a day of horrors the sun had rarely looked upon.
These sufferers had not eaten food for days. They
were exhausted with hunger ; many were dying at that
moment for want of nourishment ; and the ghastly,
undressed wounds made us heart-sick. Five hundred
wounds to be examined, bathed, and dressed ; five
hundred men to be fed and washed, and with but our
little company of aids to do it ! One man, whose pite
ous appeal I could not resist, asked me to dress his
leg. It was a flesh wound, but was dry and hard.
The bandage was stiff and clotted ; and when I had
cleansed the skin, I found that he had bled to death.
At the moment of his appeal to me his life was going
out. But a few minutes, and he lay on a stretcher

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 33

ready for burial. The surgeons were at work, prob
ing, extracting balls, amputating in the open air, while
upon every hand were cries of agony from the poor
follows, which would have melted any but a heart of
stone.

The tenderness and gratitude of the men were always
touching. One man said to me, in answer to an in
quiry about the roads over which he had been jolted,
" All this I can bear ; but when I think of the tender
hearted people who come so far to care for us, I cannot
help the tears." In another case, a boy, who was
very badly shot, said to me, as I wrote for him, " Tell
my mother as pleasant things as you can. Tell her
the truth ; but qualify it by saying that I am in good
hands, and am doing well. Tell her about the garden
of this house, about the flowers, and the kind, good
Mrs. Marshall, who is like an angel to us all ; " as
indeed she was in all her blessed ministries ; and then
he sobbed out the name of each brother and sister
whom he held so closely in his remembrance.

The fearful and undecided battles of the Wilderness
and of Spottsylvania, the decimated regiments, and
the prospect of continued active operations for an
indefinite period, made the call for reinforcements im
perative. The fortifications of Washington were left
2*

34 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

comparatively undefended, and their garrisons were
transferred to active duty in the field. A column of
sixteen thousand men moved down to join the army.
We had received the news of the success and capture
of prisoners and artillery at Spottsylvania, who were
actually passing to the rear, while this body of fresh
troops was marching through Fredericksburg for the
front. They were full of fire, and their enthusiasm
was kindled afresh at the sight of these captured guns
and other trophies of that bloody field. The clustering
roses were growing in profusion everywhere ; and as
the column passed, we threw garlands of flowers, as if
to strew their way to victory. Their polished arms
glistened brilliantly in the sun ; their colors were flow
ing out in the breeze, and they moved forward firmly,
and, as it proved, to an immediate engagement.
Within twenty-four hours five hundred men were
brought back bleeding, wounded, dead, or dying ; the
same roses, scarcely faded, were stained with blood,
which even then was hardly dry. Ewell's Corps, de
tached from its main army to make a detour of our
rear to capture our wagon trains, was met, fought, and
repulsed within six miles of where we were ; and now
the ambulances were returning over the very ground
ipon which these men had moved with steps so firm

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 35

and hearts so light but a few hours before. It was
nearly sunset ; and as the train must halt for the night,
it was parked in an open, ploughed field, directly at
the foot of Marie's Heights — that famous position
which our troops had in previous battles stormed in
vain.

The camp for the night was settled at dark ; the
drivers had lain down to rest ; the fires were blazing
brightly, while the moon, half obscured in the smoke
of these tremendous battles, shone out red and lurid
upon the field, lighting it up for our ministries to those
wrho were in the agonies of death. Here was this
vast addition to our numbers, — the dead to be taken
out and buried, the living to be fed, and washed, and
surgically dressed. Detailing our guard we visited
every ambulance, moving those who had died. One
by one they were placed upon stretchers, their bodies
hardly cold, their limbs in every position, and they
were carried out to an adjoining field, where they were
laid side by side. In the mean time our kitchen was
taxed to its utmost capacity in preparing nourishment ;
and before midnight every man had an ample supper,
such as we could hastily prepare. Our work went on.
There were throbbing wounds to be dressed, and fe
vered limbs to be cooled by fresh water applications.

86 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

With basins, sponges, bandages, and lint, and with
clear spring water, we went from ambulance to ambu
lance, bathing, cleansing, soothing wounds which were
yet fresh and open, and some so ghastly as to make
us almost faint. Arms, legs, shoulders, jaws, and feet
had been carried away ; many had received only the
most hurried treatment upon the field, while others
had not been attended to at all.

Under one of the ambulances we found a lad,
Charles H. Cutler, of the First Massachusetts Heavy
Artillery, dreadfully wounded in the back. He had
crawled out and was lying on the ground, gasping for
a breath of fresh air, covered with his tent-cloth, which
was saturated and discolored with his blood. His suf
ferings were such that he prayed that he might die.
We attempted to dress his back ; but to move him
caused so sharp an agony, that we could only bathe
and wash the wound with the cold water which we
had at hand. The Rev. William H. Channing, who
was of our party, with that lightning flash of sym
pathetic feeling which was characteristic of all his
service in the field, drew from the lad his story, got
his father's address, and spoke to him of his critical
condition. " My boy," said he, " do you know what
it is to pray that you may die?" "Ah, yes; for

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 87

death would bring me so much peace," he replied.
"Will you baptize me here? I shall feel better then,
for my father always wanted me to be baptized." So
in that rough, open field, on our knees under the
ambulance, the poor boy was received into Christ's
Church on earth, into the real communion of which
he was so soon to enter in heaven. In no prayer or
service of such profound solemnity had I ever joined ;
and the promise was made real in that midnight
experience, if it was ever fulfilled, " that where two or
three are gathered together in my name, there am I
in the midst of them." Administering a sleeping pow
der, we left the lad quietly at rest. Moving through
the train, we kept at work until all was still. The
embers of the fires were dying out ; perfect stillness
reigned through all the camp, with the exception of
the meanings of the men who were to pass a sleepless
night in pain. The dead were not to be left uncared
for nor uncovered. There they were in one long row,
laid side by side, stark and stiff, the moon looking
calmly down upon them — all soldiers of a common
cause, all dead in a service which we trust had given
them perfect freedom. With a flickering caudle we
went over each body, examining clothing, marking
every article, from gun-stopper to watch, or photo-

38 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

graph, or Bible ; collecting data of wounds or death,
with the addresses of their friends, to whom the news
was yet to come of their burial in an enemy's country
by friendly hands. Then with tent-cloth and blanket
we covered them, leaving them to be baptized with the
dew of evening, and committing them to the hands of
a loving and merciful God.

At daylight we were on the field again, with fresh
water, crackers, milk punch, and coffee, to give all the
refreshment we could before starting them over those
terrible roads between Fredericksburg and Belle Plain.
The dead were now to be buried. For hours the snn
had been blazing with its midsummer heat upon the
field, and its effect was only too apparent. With two
spades we began to make the trench, into which they
were to be laid ; and when it was finished, the blanket
coverings were removed, and Mr. Channing stood upon
the embankment and commenced his short funeral
service : " When this corruptible shall have put on
incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immor
tality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is
written, .Death is swallowed up in victory ."

With an appropriate and touching prayer, fervently
remembering those who were bereaved, we laid, one
by one, into their last resting-place, these mutilated

AKMY OF THE POTOMAC. 39

bodies, so changed in these last few hours that no
friend could have recognized them.

One afternoon, just before the evacuation, when the
atmosphere of our rooms was close and foul, and all
were longing for a breath of our cooler northern air,
while the men were moaning in pain, or were restless
with fever, and our hearts were sick with pity for the
sufferers, I heard a light step upon the stairs ; and
looking up I saw a young lady enter, who brought
with her such an atmosphere of calm and cheerful
courage, so much freshness, such an expression of gen
tle, womanly sympathy, that her mere presence seemed
to revive the drooping spirits of the men, and to give
a new power of endurance through the long and pain
ful hours of suffering. First with one, then at the
side of another, a friendly word here, a gentle nod and
smile there, a tender sympathy with each prostrate
sufferer, a sympathy which could read in his eyes his
longing for home love, and for the presence of some
absent one — in those few minutes hers was indeed an
angel ministry. Before she left the room she sang to
them, first some stirring national melody, then some
sweet or plaintive hymn to strengthen the fainting
heart ; and I remember how the notes penetrated to
every part of the building. Soldiers with less severe

40 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

wounds, from the rooms above, began to crawl out
into the entries, and men from below crept up on
their hands and knees, to catch every note, and to
receive of the benediction of her presence — for such
it was to them. Then she went away. I did not
know who she was, but I was as much moved and
melted as any soldier of them all. This is my first
reminiscence of Helen L. Gilson.

Our work in Fredericksburg was nearly ended.
The flank movements of General Grant from Spottsyl-
vania to Hanover Court House left the town exposed.
The government, with exhaustless energy, was com
pleting the railroad to Aquia Creek, in order to trans
fer the wounded rapidly to Washington. Two or
three trains had passed safely through, but the guer
rillas operating on that line had broken the com
munication, and it became necessary to use all the
river transportation that could be made available.
Since the first battle of Fredericksburg, however, the
Rappahannock had been closed by torpedoes. Fortu
nately for the wounded, the commander of the river
flotilla, Captain Hooker, was the man for the occasion.
Prompt, fearless, and resolute, with a few marines he
entered one of the towns on the river, arrested a
dozen of the more prominent citizens of the place,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 41

confined them on one of his gunboats, and told the
authorities that he was going in search of torpedoes.
If these men were blown up in removing them, well ;
but if one of his crew was injured, he would lay the
country waste, burn every house and barn, and let the
people subsist as they could. And they knew that he
would do it. The torpedoes were removed, and the
river was opened. The transports followed the fleet,
and it was announced that the evacuation of Fred-
ericksburg must be hurried forward as rapidly as
possible. Those who could walk, either with or with
out crutches, were sent forward on foot to Belle Plain.
Probably many fell and died by the roadside. We
know that many lives would have been saved had it
been possible for them to remain quietly where they
were. From our own buildings several were sent off
who died before they reached the landing ; while to
remain, was to linger in the hands of an enemy to
whose mercy it would not be safe, judging from many
past experiences, to trust. The evacuation went on.
Our own men were sent away ; and when we reached
the wharf, the steamers, which were then crowded
even to the gangways, were refusing to receive another
man. Hundreds were left through the night in a
pouring rain. The Sanitary Commission steamer

42 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

"Kent" came at last, loaded with stores for the new
base ; and after the other transports were loaded, we
took the remainder, forty stretcher cases, all being
amputations, on our decks. The guerrillas came
swarming into the town, filling its streets, just too late
to catch their prey, appearing at the landing only in
time to see the last steamer rapidly moving out of
sight and range.

There were many bad cases needing immediate
care. We had every facility, — water, basins, sponges,
and castile soap, lint and linen bandages, — and went
to work. Removing the clotted cloths, bathing and
cleansing the stumps, we found three men upon whom
it proved necessary to perform secondary amputations
to save their lives. All this suffering was borne in
utter silence. There was no complaining ; each waited
for his turn, without appealing to us to pass another
by in order to come to him. There was one German
lad who could not speak a word of English. He was
placed a little out of sight, so that, in the routine of
dressing, we had not been to him. Supposing him to
be comfortable, from the cheerfulness of his face, and
his silence, which had been quite noticeable, lie had
not been attended to. At last, when I went to him
and opened his shirt, a horrible wound was disclosed,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 43

a shell having carried away his arm at the shoulder,
together with the fleshy part of his side. The wound
was perfectly fresh and healthy, yet the poor fellow
was so quiet and submissive to the necessary manipu
lation in the dressing, that he won the love and
admiration of all on board.

As I look back upon these crowded days and nights
of sad and exciting experiences, of duties shared and
work performed with others, there are most precious
memories of companionship with two friends,* who,
through death and darkness, with a beautiful fidelity
to those whom they were serving, made every hour
bright by their self-forgetting cheerfulness and Chris
tian love. Whether amidst the perils of capture by
the enemy, or the more insidious dangers of the
swamps, their daily routine was unchanged in its
serene trustfulness, which gave new strength and con
fidence to all around them. And when, after unparal
leled exposures, it was seen at last that disease had
made fearful inroads upon Mrs. M., and they retired
with hardly a hope that she would live to reach her
home, it became evident, through the twelvemonth of
Buffering and prostration which followed, how nearly

* Mr. and Mrs. James F. R. Marshall, of Boston.

44 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

she had been sacrificed in the absorbing labors of this
great campaign. With a lofty consecration to duty,
with united loyalty to their work, through fatigue,
hunger, and disease, they were enriched by blessings
which fell from dying lips and overflowing hearts.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 45

CHAPTER III.

EAPPAHANNOCK AND PAMUNKY.

Port Royal. — Tropical Luxuriance. — Virginia Mocking Birds. —
Fire '. — The Negroes. — Their Day of Jubilee. — The Contraband
Barge. — Their Evening Hymn. — Miss Gilson's Address. —
White House. — Arrival of the Tenth and Eighteenth Corps. —
The Fortieth Massachusetts. — Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall. —
The Battle of Cold Harbor. — The Field of Carnage. — Horrors
of Ambulance Transportation. — Field Hospital at White House.
— Eight Thousand Wounded. — The Death of Mrs. General
Barlow.

PORT ROYAL, an unimportant post village in
Caroline County, Virginia, twenty-five miles be
low Fredericksburg, on the Rappahannock, was, for
two or three days, a temporary base of the army. Its
quiet harbor was filled with transport steamers and
barges, waiting orders to move up the York and Pa-
munky Rivers, where a new base was to be established
nearer Richmond. Here we rested, enjoying the
beauty of the river, — its calm, full current flowing
smoothly on, reflecting the rich foliage of its shores,

46 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

which gently rose into the highlands, now lost in the
purple haze of evening. Upon the wide plateau with
out the town our forces were drawn up in line. The
bugles were sounding and drums were beating, while,
as the sun went down behind rich masses of clouds
that were bathed in a flood of glory, the bands struck
up their grand national airs, which were wafted to u»
on the still breath of this beautiful evening. We
landed on the pontoon pier, which was crowded with
negroes unloading forage for the twelve hundred and
fifty wagons soon to start for the front, and walked up
through crowds of soldiers, picking our way among
cavalry horses, ambulances, and army teams. The
town is one of the quaint old Virginia settlements, the
houses embowered in magnificent shade trees, the gar
dens full of creeping vines and flowers, which peeped
through every crevice of the fences, and clambered
over windows and verandas, while rich, dark ivy clung
to tree and wall, and hung in graceful luxuriance
everywhere. The rarest exotics grow here profusely
in the open air ; and there was a tropical fragrance in
the air, a delicious feeling of luxury and repose, which
only needed a righteous peace to make the place a
paradise. The Virginia mocking birds exceed even
the nightingale in the rich variety and sweetness of

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 47

their notes. Their joyous trill is never repeated, and
they seem to combine in the treasury of their throats
the music of all the birds. Evening was coining on.
The long twilight of June was very beautiful. The
air was calm and still, and the serenity of the night
was most impressive. Cool, quiet, and tender, the
moon shone upon us ; the river was like a mirror, and
we floated along with the tide, only steadying oui
course with the oars, while Venus, the beautiful emer
ald evening star, kept its quiet vigil over our pleasant
hour of rest and recreation.

At midnight the cry of fire started us to our feet,
and but a few rods away was a barge of hay burning.
The heat of the flames was even then felt upon oui
decks. The paint would blister, and the wood begin
to char, unless we could drop immediately down the
stream. Bales of burning hay were dropping off the
barge and floating towards us. Our fires were out.
Here were forty helpless men depending upon us for
succor. The fire soon enveloped the barge, and shot
up red and lurid in hot forks of flame. The heat
became intense, and it was soon an impossibility to
face it. For a time our fate seemed inevitable ; the
officers of the boat were at their posts, the fires under
the boilers were kindling, the steam was slowly rising,

48 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

and, at the moment when our position seemed to be
the most critical, the beam of the engines moved, and
in half an hour we were anchored out of danger.
The next day our wounded were transferred to the
hospital transport " Connecticut," and were taken to
Washington, and our decks were cleared.

As our armies swept through Spottsylvania, Caro
line, King William, and Hanover Counties the LO
groes, by instinct, swarmed to the banks of the rivers.
Leaving the old plantations, their masters, and their
servitude, dressed as for a festival, and each with his
bundle, their only property, they made their way in
companies through the desert, like the children of
Israel, coming out, as they thought, into the promised
land. As we passed down the Rappahannock and up
the York and Pamunky Rivers, squads of families
could be seen for miles along the banks, making their
way they knew not whither, but hoping for escape.
As our steamer sped rapidly along, the poor creatures
would beg by every gesture of appeal, holding their
bundles up, raising their hands as if imploring sympa
thy, and calling upon us not to pass them by. At
Port Royal they flocked down in such numbers that a
government barge was appropriated for their use. A
thousand were stowed upon her decks, negroes of aU

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 49

ages, helpless children, and old men and women, all
seeking to be free. All their lives long they had
dreamed of the day of deliverance. Their rude de
votions had expressed it with the wild fervor of their
excitable natures ; and now the door was opened, and
they felt that " de Lord was leading dem along."
They were dressed as for a day of jubilee. Freedom
was to them an Mea. They did not know that it
meant opportunity, hardship, and privation ; they did
not dream of education, development, responsibility.
They only knew that it was freedom, and that, in
breaking their old relation, there would be no more
auction blocks, and no more cruelty.

Our steamer was anchored in the river. A hundred
vessels were there waiting orders to move. Night
came on. There were gleaming signals all about us,
and a thousand colored lights were reflected in the
water. In the distance we could hear, low and soft,
the first notes of the negroes' evening hymn. Impas
sioned and plaintive it came on, increasing in its
volume, until the whole chorus broke out in one of
those indescribably wild, fervid melodies, of which it
is impossible to resist the impression, until it melted
away into the subdued moanings of a few who were
charged with the refrain.
3

50 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Our boat was soon lowered and filled with an eager
company, who wished to reach the barge before their
service was over. Clambering up the sides of the great
steamer, we found them just settling down to sleep.
As we moved about among them, we found enough
who were willing to repeat their hymn. Their old
preacher addressed them a few words of exhortation,
telling them " dese am solemn times," and led them in
their song. Like wildfire it spread among them,
and soon a thousand voices blended into one. Under
the flickering of our single light it was a picture
indeed. Their countenances were all aglow with the
passion of their song ; and as I stood looking upot
that sea of uplifted faces, I thought that there was
hardly an emotion which could be awakened by intense
religious feeling that did not find expression there.
There was the rapture of some clear vision, the
anguish of some unforgiven sin, the penitence of a
lowly spirit ; there was the wrestling of some self-
accusing soul, or the aspiration of one to whom perfect
love had cast out fear; and there they stood in all
their untutored simplicity.

When their song had ceased, Miss Gilson addressed
them. She pictured the reality of freedom, told them
what it meant, and what they would have to do. No

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 51

longer would there be a master to deal out the peck of
corn, no longer a mistress to care for the old people
or the children. They were to work for themselves,
provide for their own sick, and support their own
infirm ; but all this was to be done under new con
ditions. No overseer was to stand over them with the
whip, for their new master was the necessity of earn
ing their daily bread. Very soon new and higher
motives would come ; fresh encouragements, a nobler
ambition, would grow into their new condition. Then
in the simplest language she explained the difference
between their former relations with the then master
and their new relations with the northern people,
showing that labor here was voluntary, and that they
could only expect to secure kind employers by faith
fully doing all they had to do. Then, enforcing truth
fulness, neatness, and economy, she said, —

" You know that the Lord Jesus died and rose
again for you. You love to sing his praise and to
draw near to him in prayer. But remember that this is
not all of religion. You must do right as well as pray
right. Your lives must be full of kind deeds towards
each other, full of gentle and loving affections, full of
unselfishness and truth : this is true piety. You must
make Monday and Tuesday just as good and pure as

52 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Sunday is, remembering that God looks not only at
your prayers and your emotions, but at the way you
live, and speak, and act, every hour of your lives."
Then she sang this exquisite hymn by Whittier : —

" O, praise an' tanks, — de Lord he come

To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,

An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea wabes,

He just as 'trong as den;
He say de word, we last night slabea

To-day de Lord's free men.

We pray de Lord, — he gib us signs

Dat some day we be free;
De norf wind tell it to de pines,

De wild duck to de sea.
We tink it when de church bell ring,

We dream it in de dream;
De rice bird mean it when he sing,

De eagle when he scream.

We know de promise nebber fail,

An' nebber lie de word;
So, like de 'postles in de jail,

We waited for de Lord.
An' now he open ebery door,

An* trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before,

We lub him better free.

De yam will grow, de cotton blow,

He'll gib de rice and corn;
So nebber you fear, if ncbbor you hear

De driver blow his horn."

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 53

Here were a thousand people breathing their first
free air. They were new born with this delicious
sense of freedom. They listened with moistened eyes
to every word which concerned their future, and felt
that its utterance came from a heart which could em
brace them all in its sympathies. Life was to them a
jubilee only so far as they could make it so by a con
sciousness of duty faithfully done. They had hard
work before them, much privation, many struggles.
They had everything to learn — the new industries of
the North, their changed social condition, and how to
accept their new responsibilities.

As she spoke the circle grew larger, and they
pressed round her more eagerly. It was all a part
of their new life. They welcomed it ; and, by every
possible expression of gratitude to her, they showed
how desirous they were to learn. Those who were*
present can never forget the scene — a thousand dusky
faces, expressive of such fervency and enthusiasm,
their large eyes filled with tears, answering to the
throbbing heart below, all dimly outlined by the flicker
ing rays of a single lamp. And when it was over, we
felt that we could understand our relations to them,
and the new duties which this great hour had brought
upon us.

54 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

As the campaign progressed, and the army moved
towards Richmond, there took place the fiercer con
flicts of Spottsylvania Court House and Cold Harbor,
with the lesser skirmishes and counter attacks upon
alternate lines day by day. Up the Pamunky and
York Rivers to White House, and through the poi
soned atmosphere of the swamps, the hospital depart
ment followed on the great movements of the army,
which sent daily its wagon and ambulance trains of
wounded to the rear. The variety of high and low
lands, the abandoned plantations, ruined houses, and
crumbling chimneys, all bearing the marks of the deso
lations of war, gave a sad picturesqueness to the
scenery, which in other days might have been called
beautiful.

We reached White House at sunset on the 30th of
May. The open plain was filled with troops, which
proved to be a part of the army of General Butler,
under the command of General W. F. Smith, consist
ing of the Eighteenth Army Corps and a part of the
Tenth. They were just going into camp, having but
then arrived on their way to join the Army of the
Potomac, which at that moment was not at a greater
distance than fifteen miles* It was a brilliant sunset,
lighting up with floods of mellow light this great

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 55

camping ground, and reflected from thousands of glis
tening arras. The dress parade was over, and the
army was seeking its rest. The camp fires were blaz
ing as night came on ; the colored lights from the
river fleet were reflected in every dancing ripple, while
the sentries moved on their lonely beats, and the din
of the camp was hushed and still. Through the
night the Medical Director, Dr. Dalton, was upon the
ground, selecting a site for the hospital. The highest
ground, with a proximity to good water, was the first
necessity. Several ample springs were found, an open
field was secured near by and easily accessible from
the river.

While we were waiting the arrival of the wounded,
we went in search of the Fortieth Massachusetts Regi
ment. The headquarters were under a thick bower
of magnolia leaves, and we received a cordial welcome
from Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall. The men were
resting on their arms, their knapsacks being merely
unstrapped, and their guns lying within reach, ready
for marching orders. The men were full of spirit and
enthusiasm, although in the midst of a severe cam
paign. They were to enter upon their work again
to-morrow, few of them probably realizing that the
setting sun of that day was to be the last that mauy

56 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

of them would ever look upon. As we sat in this
cool, shady spot, a staff officer rode up with orders to
have the regiment prepared to move at a moment's
notice, and we left the column ready for its march*
The skirmishing previous to the battle of Cold Harbor
had begun. The heavy guns were distinctly heard
during the morning — that desultory firing, ominous
of the coming engagement. The regiment joined its
brigade, marched to Cold Harbor, and, before another
sun had set, the colonel and one hundred of his brave
men were dead and buried on the field. The fire of
a genuine patriotism burned in the heart of Colonel
Marshall. Bold as a lion, he was as sensitive as a
girl. With utter fearlessness in danger, nothing could
touch so quickly those finer sensibilities of honor as
the slightest intimation of reproach that from any
cause he was neglectful of his duty. The life of a
skilful officer, of a devoted, earnest, and faithful man,
was thrown away in rashly vindicating himself from
an aspersion as unjust as it was inconsiderate; and
when the noble fellow fell, the tears of his men
watered his grave. The brown, haggard soldiers,
with powder-stained hands, placed him reverently un
der the sod, with their comrades who fell at his side.
The sights of a field of carnage must not be

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 57

described. But in the rear of it we can see groups
of men sitting under trees, or lying in agony, having
crawled to some shady spot, to a brook-side or ravine,
where they may bathe their fevered wounds or quench
their thirst, while waiting their turn to be removed in
ambulances to the hospital. The Sanitary Commis
sion's supply wagons, which have been pushed forward
to the field, are stationed where they can afford the
most relief. Many sufferers are necessarily passed
by; but how many an exhausted man has lived to
tell the story of the Commission's timely ministry, but
for which he would have been numbered with the
dead. In the ambulances are concentrated probably
more acute suffering than may be seen in the same
space in all this world beside. The worst cases only
have the privilege of transportation ; and what a priv
ilege ! A privilege of being violently tossed from side
to side, of having one of the four who occupy the
vehicle together thrown bodily, perhaps, upon a gaping
wound ; of being tortured, and racked, and jolted,
when each jarring of the ambulance is enough to
make the sympathetic brain burst with agony. How
often have I stood on the step behind, and heard
the cry, " O God, release me from this agony ! " and
then some poor stump would be jolted from its place,
3*

58 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

and be brought smartly up against the wooden frame
work of the wagon, while tears would gather in the
eyes and roll down over furrowed cheeks. And then
some poor fellow would take a suspender and tie it to
the wagon top, and hold to that, in order to break the
effect of the jolting ambulance, as it careened from
side to side, or went ploughing on through roads ren
dered almost impassable by the enormous transporta
tion service of the army. And yet, as a class, these
ambulance drivers were humane men. I have been
with them at their camp fires, and have shared their
rough evening meal ; I have seen their carefulness and
skill in driving, and have wondered sometimes at the
tender considerateness with which they ministered to
their suffering comrades, when their life of hardship
and their rough associations would have such ten
dency to make them insensible. It was stated that
never before in any campaign of the Army of the
Potomac had army wagons been called into use for the
transportation of wounded men ; yet, day after day,
the trains passed through Fredericksburg, as they
were at that moment arriving at White House, with
their living freights of suffering men.

The dead at Cold Harbor were left unburied, and
the wounded were rapidly sent to White House, where

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 59

eight thousand arrived before a hospital was estab
lished to receive them. The vast plateau was, how
ever, soon covered with tents ; kitchens and feeding
stations were established, and the regular routine of
hospital work went on. In looking back upon this
hospital encampment at White House, and all the
sufferings experienced there, its distinctive features
are lost in the recollection of agonizing sights and
sounds, and in the sense of accumulating duties, of
sleepless nights, of days crowded with painful experi
ences, of heart and brain overwhelmed with the effort
to relieve so much suffering. When the army crossed
the James, on the 14th of June, and White House was
evacuated, the whole equipage of the hospital was
transported to City Point, which was to remain the
base until the war should close. Through tropical
heat and drenching showers this holy work went on,
until many were stricken down with miasmatic fevers,
— some, alas ! to die, and others to approach so near
to death as to hear the rustle of the angels' wings.

Of our own more immediate party, Mrs. General
Barlow was the only one who died. Her exhausting
work at Fredericksburg, where the largest powers of
administration were displayed, left but a small meas
ure of vitality with which to encounter the severe

60 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

exposures of the poisoned swamps of the Pamunky,
and the malarious districts of City Point. Here, in
the open field, she toiled with Mr. Marshall and Miss
Gilson, under the scorching sun, with no shelter from
the pouring rains, with no thought but for those who
were suffering and dying all around her. On the
battle-field of Petersburg, hardly out of range of the
enemy, and at night witnessing the blazing lines of fire
from right to left, among the wounded, with her sym
pathies and powers of both mind and body strained to
the last degree, neither conscious that she was working
beyond her strength, nor realizing the extreme exhaus
tion of her system, she fainted at her work, and found,
only when it was too late, that the raging fever was
wasting her life away. It was strength of will which
sustained her in this intense activity, when her poor,
tired body was trying to assert its own right to repose.
Yet to the last, her sparkling wit, her brilliant intel
lect, her unfailing good humor, lighted up our moments
of rest and recreation. So many memories of her
beautiful constancy and self-sacrifice, of her bright and
genial companionship, of her rich and glowing sympa
thies, of her warm and loving nature, come back to
me, that I feel how inadequate would be any tribute I
could pay to her worth.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 61

CHAPTER IV.

THE SANITARY COMMISSION.

What becomes of its Money ?— Its Operation at Fredericksburg.--
Hospital Issues. — The Work of the Commission. — Its Enlarge
ment as the War went on. — The Death Rates of the Army con
trasted with the English in the Crimea. — General Relief. —Spe
cial Relief. — The Auxiliary Relief Corps. — Its Organization.—
Personal Relief. — Hon. Frank B. Fay. — Relief Chests. — Their
Contents.

IT would be clearly impossible in a few paragraphs
to condense all that might be said of the Sanitary
Commission. Its service embraced all those more
immediate necessities of the soldier, of personal relief,
both in the field and in the hospital, and included in
its operations a vast aggregate of good, out of the
army, which never met the public eye. Its various
departments in the field ; its bureaus in Washington,
Philadelphia, and New York ; its beneficent operations
all over the continent, wherever a soldier's comfort
was to be provided for, or his interests were to be pro-

62 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

tected, need a volume for the record ; and if the story-
is ever told, it will be one of the brightest pages in our
national history. In the operations of this vast cam
paign it was foremost in everything. It reached the
new base as soon as there were soldiers to protect it.
It was at work preparing for hospitals and providing
necessary stores before the government machinery be
gan to move ; and its red flags were seen everywhere
with the stars and stripes, establishing its feeding sta
tions and its depots of supplies. It was made supple
mentary to the government ; and thus, in emergencies
of great suffering, or when starvation threatened to
add its horrors to the miseries of the wounded, the
Commission was at hand with its medicines, morphine,
or chloroform, saving by them as many lives as by its
stimulants and food. In this campaign the most per
fect understanding existed between the Medical Di
rector, Dr. Dalton, and the gentlemen in charge of
the Commission. He liberally answered requisitions,
granted concessions, offered facilities to its agents, and
promoted its efficiency in every way, and thus vast
suffering was relieved through the harmonious blend-
in"1 of the two agencies. The unselfish and devoted
heroism of surgeons, both regular and volunteer, the
prompt and the careful and humane performance of

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.

their duties, have led many to say, that 110 campaign
since the war commenced had seen such thorough
faithfulness in the pressing cares and responsibilities
of their positions, while never before had there been
known such variety or severity of wounds.

A natural question, " What becomes of the money
of the Sanitary Commission?" was often asked. It
was felt that the large balances, at various times
known to be in the treasury of the Commission,
should prove sufficient until the war should close.
Try to realize the necessary comforts to be supplied to
a hundred wounded men. Consider the rolls of cloth
ing, shirts, drawers, and stockings ; the pillows and
pads for stumps ; the bed-ticks, slings, and bed-pans ;
the tents, blankets, and slippers, fans and basins,
sponges, drinking-cups and spoons, — each man requir
ing more or less of all of these, and a hundred things
beside, for his outward comfort, — and then consider
the articles of food, including every necessary stimu
lant, — oranges, lemons, soft crackers, oatmeal for
gruel, farina, cordials, canned and dried fruits, and
meats and vegetables, condensed milk and coffee, sugar
and tobacco, eggs and crackers, — and all this, not for
one man, nor a hundred, nor a thousand, but for tens
of thousands, in one department only of the vast

64 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

campaign. It is also to be remembered that in Vir
ginia the work was not simply with nor in the midst
of the army, nor only upon the battle-fields ; it was
spread over vast tracts of country through which the
army moved, where wounded men had been left in the
woods or uninhabited plains. Its stations were estab
lished not only where it was known there would be
want, but where there might be a possibility of need,
requiring comprehensive forethought, prompt and ener
getic action, and unwearied labor in infinite detail.
Of some articles the requirements were enormous.
Condensed milk by the ton ; shirts by tens of thou
sands ; ice by the cargo ; and so on, with the long list
of supplies. And this material had to be transported
by wagon trains from one base to another ; horses
were to be purchased, their forage provided, drivers to
be paid, steamers to be chartered, and coal procured.
It was a gigantic machinery, and as beneficent in its
working as it was vast in its proportions. The
cash expenditure for the mouth of May, 1864, was
$250,000 ; and this did not include the material
contributed gratuitously, nor the supplies sent to the
central depots as a gift.

The work at Fredericksburg was carefully sub
divided ; one hundred and fifty agents were assigned

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 65

to the various Corps Hospitals, each responsible to
the chief of the corps, Hon. Frank B. Fay report
ing to him for instructions, and drawing through
him their supplies. The central storehouse was sup
plied daily by the wagon trains which were loaded at
Belle Plain ; but such was the demand for stores, that
no sooner had an invoice been unloaded, than boxes,
barrels, and shelves were emptied to answer the press
ing calls. On one occasion, within ten days, 28,763
pieces of dry goods, shirts, towels, bed-ticks, and pil
lows were sent and issued ; while upon another occa
sion were issued in sixty days of

Hospital Furniture and Personal Clothing.

Quilts, 30,197

Blankets, 13,500

Sheets, 42,945

Pillows, 35,877

Pillow-cases 4y,906

Pillow-ticks, 2,209

Bed-ticks, 11,716

Shirts, 87,994

Drawers, 48,303

Socks, 80,322

Slippers, 14,984

Handkerchiefs 43,000

Towels, 05,104

Wrappers, 10,235

Flannel Bands, .... 3,084

To a mind oppressed by contemplating the horrors
of war, the Sanitary Commission alone seemed to shed
a gleam of sunshine over the dismal scene. Men
blessed it with their dying breath ; they prayed for it
as they lay weak and weary ; and one man, just before

66 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

he died, said, " Here is my pocket-book : give its con
tents to the Sanitary Commission."

Let us not doubt the refining influence of suffering.
Every day we were made stronger for duty by the
beautiful revelations of character which this heavy
trial had brought out. Men of roughest exterior, who
had faced death in every form, who were grim and
fearless in battle, and who had seemed utterly destitute
of the finer sensibilities, when lying in pain, would
become as quiet, and gentle, and subdued as children ;
as patient, resigned, and even hopeful, as any saint
who had overcome all things in the discipline of life.
A fact of this kind was brought to my notice. A
wounded soldier, worn with heavy marches, wounds,
and camp disease, died in the hospital in perfect peace.
Some, who witnessed his sweet patience and content
through great languor and weariness, fancied some
times that they " could already see the brilliant par
ticles of a halo above his head." Before he died, he
is said to have written this touching little hymn : —

«'I lay me down to sleep

With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here or there !

A bowing, burdened head,
That only asks to rest

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. f)7

Unquestioning upon
A loving breast.

My good right hand forgets

Its cunning now;
To march the weary march

I know not how.

I am not eager, bold,

Nor strong. All that is past.
I am ready not to do

At last, at last.

My half day's work is done,

And this is all my part :
I give a patient God

My patient heart, —

And grasp his banner still,

Though all its blue be dim;
These stripes, no less than stars,

Lead after him."

The work of the Commission embraced, in the first
place, the sanitary concerns of the army, the means
of preserving the health and securing the general
efficiency of the troops in the field and their comfort in
the hospitals. Ventilation of tents, drainage of camps,
and all of those healthful measures in an army, the
neglect of which is seen in frightful rates of mortality,
received attention. To illustrate briefly the value of
this work of the Commission, the contrast is presented
between the annual death rate of the English forces in

68 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THR

the Crimean war and that of our own armies. " In
the Crimea it increased from 129 per 1000 men per
annum, to 1174 per 1000 men per annum, of which
97 per cent, was from disease." In other words, iu
order to supply the loss by death alone, it would be
necessary to replace the dead army by a new one of
equal strength in forty-four weeks. At this point the
English government began to establish sanitary opera
tions ; and within a year from their full operation the
rate was reduced to 25 per 1000 men. Another state
ment of this Crimean mortality is as follows : " The
percentage of deaths (46.7 per cent, in the hospitals
of Scutari and Koulali, in February, 1855) was nearly
as great as the percentage of recoveries. But that
alarming mortality was speedily checked by specific
sanitary works, so that the death rate fell to two or
thres per cent, in the same hospitals of cases treated."
On the other hand, in our own armies, as the tabular
statements show, the loss averaged 65 per 1000 men,
the result, unquestionably, of the promptness with
which the Commission met the great question which
was presented to them by the frightful experiences in
the last great European war; and it may with jus
tice claim its full share of agency in this successful
result.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 69

Then followed the work of General Relief, or the
system of current supply in the field. Its first effort
was made after the battle of Ball's Bluff, and during
the winter of 1861-2. Its history embraces every
active campaign in every department, and its opera
tion became more widely known, from the fact that it
was the administration of the Field Relief, which in
cluded the distribution of stores, and, to some extent,
those ministrations of relief which have so deeply
touched the hearts of the people. Still later was
organized the Special Relief, a department for the care
of discharged soldiers, though other work was con
nected with it. Homes, lodges, and soldiers' rests
were established all over the country ; a pension
agency, with its branches in every large city ; a
bureau for the gratuitous collection of back pay and
the settlement of deceased soldiers' accounts ; and
employment agencies, from which has accrued a vast
amount of good to soldiers and to their families in
thousands of instances.

Next in order, but not less important, was the
Auxiliary Relief Corps, which, combining all the
essential points of the Field Relief, was yet a step
in advance of that, as it attempted a personal ministry
to the soldier, in addition to its distribution of supplies.

70 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

And this department made the work of the whole
more complete, gave it more significance and a richer
fruitfuluess ; for it had in it an abundant wealth of
love. Its history, if brief, is yet brilliant with hero
ism, and deeply impressive with the records of suffer
ing and death, which were the result of the gigantic
campaign which ended around Petersburg and Rich
mond. I do not wish to claim for the corps more than
may be justly awarded by an impartial judgment ; but
since the first battles of the war, I believe that no
organization has rendered more effective service among
sick or wounded men than this corps has since its
inception and operation after the battles of the Wilder
ness. In the winter of 1863-4, the Hon. Frank B.
Fay, after more than two years in an independent
position in the field, saw that a department of personal
relief could be ingrafted upon the Sanitary Commis
sion ; that it would become one of its most vital
branches, and would vastly alleviate suffering in the
new spring campaign then soon to be opened. Ac
cordingly an Auxiliary Relief Corps was organized,
and began its operations at Fredericksburg after the
battles of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania Court
House. Until this campaign the Sanitary Commis
sion had never attempted systematic personal service

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 71

or contact with the soldier. Its work in the field had
been mainly the distribution of supplies upon requisi
tions from the surgeons. Its wagons were with the
various divisions of the army, moving with its move
ments, at hand always upon the battle-field to make
good the deficiency of medical supplies which had
fallen short, or from any cause were not within reach
of the surgeons. But no systematic personal relief of
the soldier had ever been attempted until Mr. Fay
organized this Auxiliary Relief Corps to do such work
as he had done individually from the earliest cam
paigns of the war. Its organization was briefly as
follows : In connection with each corps hospital there
was a relief station, having from four to eight agents,
under the direction of one who acted as captain.
These stations consisted of a store-tent, a sleeping and
mess-room, a tent for reading and writing; and, in
one instance, a school and a chapel were established for
convalescent soldiers, which proved a valuable kind of
work among the men, who showed their eagerness for
such instruction and influence by prompt and faithful
attendance. The barge, or central storehouse of the
Commission, issued supplies daily upon requisitions to
each of these stations. The chief of the Auxiliary
Corps had a supervision of the whole work, assigned

72 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

new men to their posts, issued general directions for
the government of the corps, and, occupying an ad
ministrative position, kept the machinery running, by
which an effective service might be rendered to the
sick or wounded who were placed under its care. The
supplies were always issued under the direction of
the surgeons, but, being personally distributed, more
surely reached individual cases than if given to de
tailed ward-masters or intrusted to hospital stewards.
This personal service included all those pleasant com
panionships and ministrations which cheered the lonely
hospital inmate, a daily and hourly intercourse, which
entered into his life and supplied his particular need.
Earnest men found enough to do, enough for heart and
hand, enough for their ingenuity, enough for their
patience, and enough for their Christian charity. This
contact with the soldier opened up a great wealth and
variety of experience. Away from the hospitals it is
impossible to realize how these electric currents run
along the invisible wires of sympathy ; how men are
drawn together ; how close and tender their relations
may become ; how such service enriches the man who
gives and the man who receives ; and how very often
a life has been changed, and lifted up, and renewed by
the outflowing of the heart, and the personal devotion

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 73

of a stranger to one who needed all a sister's or a
mother's care. Personal intercourse, — I lay stress
upon this, — intercourse which reached down to every
need of the soldier ; which supplied food for the mind,
for the soul, and for the body ; intercourse which was
companionship in loneliness, which was cheerfulness in
homesickness, which was strength in weakness, which
was spiritual comfort and peace in any dark hour, and
which could light the way by its heavenly benedictions
and its words of lofty cheer from One who has trod
the dark valley, and who has illumined it for all time
to those who are to cross it in the light of his sacred
presence.

I know the value of this service, and I know the
appreciation in which men in direst suffering have held
it. The rolls of the Auxiliary Corps have borne the
names of some four hundred men who at different
times entered the service. But mere statistics give no
idea of the magnitude of the work. Over 20,000 at
Fredericksburg, over 2000 at Port Royal, over 20,000
at White House, over 60,000 at City Point, and not
less than 20,000 at Point of Rocks — more than
120,000 sick and wounded men, not to mention the
great aggregate of those soldiers who have been cared
4

74 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

for at the feeding stations, which number is probably
not less than one fourth as many more. The corps
has worked, as I have had occasion to know, until its
members have dropped into their graves ; signal loy
alty to the service has kept others at their post until
they have been overtaken by disease ; through miasma,
fever, malaria, and contagion they have labored until
many have ruined their constitutions, and have re
turned enfeebled to their homes to die, and all for the
cause which they loved so well. Of the labors of Mr.
Fay, the chief of the corps, it would be hard to speak
in terms of too much praise ; and the only difficulty in
making reference at all to it is the fear that any fair
statement of his service may seem to be too much the
language of personal admiration. I prefer, rather, to
let the memory of all his wise and gentle ministries, his
kindly and self-forgetting service, be kept fresh in one
more heart, of all the thousands who have had such
good reasons for treasuring it. The untiring fidelity
with which his labors in this direction of personal
relief in the army were continued, probably had no
parallel in any other individual case. Before he en
tered the Sanitary Commission, Mayor Fay was known
in every division and brigade of the Army of tho

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 75

Potomac; and soldiers representing every state, and
probably nearly every county of the loyal North, have
at some time been the recipients of his kindly ministry
or his generous aid. With characteristic foresight he
was always prepared and was early upon the field of
battle with his stores, replenished for the emergency,
and with all these blessed appliances of healing moved
among the dead and wounded, soothing helpless, suf
fering, and bleeding men, parched with fever, crazed
with thirst, or lying neglected in the last agonies of
death. And this service was performed with such
humility and tenderness of spirit as is rarely combined
with the self-contained force of a matured and disci
plined mind. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his
position, and the jealousies easily awakened by those
in authority who were scrupulous of official dignity,
and careful as to forms, I believe that in no instance
did he conflict with any ruling medical power, or
receive anything but the respect and cordial good will
of those under whom he labored.

In the winter of 1864 Mr. Fay retired from the
Commission, continuing, however, his work indepen
dently until the war closed. Mr. A. M. Sperry suc
ceeded him as chief of the Auxiliary Corps, who,

76 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

since the opening of the war, had rendered service in
some form in the good cause. His experience in the
work of personal relief, his gentleness of spirit, his
tenderness with the men, his warm, earnest, and sym
pathetic nature, pointed to him as the man of all others
in the corps to take the vacant place ; and such satis
faction did he give to those in authority, that, in the
concentration of the armies around Washington, after
the surrender of Lee and Johnson, he was placed in
charge of the " Field Relief" of this vast body of men
— a responsibility and a work which he assumed and
carried through with discretion and liberality.

Among other arrangements for the campaign was
the preparation by Mr. Fay, at the expense of the
Commission, of twelve relief chests, which were care
fully provided with a great variety of stores and
utensils for hospital use, which his experience had
suggested, and which were packed with great inge
nuity and skill. They proved invaluable as a tem
porary supply. "With an admirable adjustment of the
proportions of the various articles needed, it will be
seen that hardly anything was omitted which could
contribute to a soldier's comfort in any condition in
which he might be found.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.

77

Into a space of fourteen cubic feet the following
articles were compressed, the list having been made
of the articles as they were unpacked at Fredericks-
burg : —

6 cans of tomatoes,
6 " of chicken,
6 " of mutton,
12 " of milk,
6 Ibs. of farina,
3 Ibs. of meal,
6 papers of broma,
1 pail of butter (0 Ibs.),

1 can of crackers,

2 Ibs. coffee,

1 Ib. tea,

3 Ibs. sugar,

4 bottles whiskey,

2 " brandy,
2 " cider,

2 " sherry,

1 bottle cider vinegar,

1 « raspberry vinegar,

1 " cologne water,

1 " bay rum,

2 bottles Jamaica ginger,

1 bottle brown ginger,

6 bottles extract of almonds,
4 « " of vanilla,

2 " " of lemon,
2 " " of ink,

4 papers hops,
2 dozen lemons,

1 bottle mustard,
25 nutmegs,

1 bottle Cayenne pepper,

2 bottles pepper,

1 box salt,
6 shirts,

13 pairs of drawers,
8 pair socks.

2 dozen handkerchiefs

5 arm slings,

4 pair slippers,

6 boxes troches,

6 " Russia salve,

6 empty vials,
12 boxes matches,

1 paper tacks,

6 Ibs. nails,

1 ball twine,
A lot of bandages,
A lot of comfort bags,
A lot of night-caps,

1 roll of oil silk,

2 pillow-sacks,
2 padded rings,

1 piece of netting,

2 bed-ticks,

J ream of paper,
1 dozen pen-holders,

78

HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

I dozen pencils,

1 box pens,
250 envelopes,
12 cakes of soap,

6 sponges,
12 dozen pipes,

1 box candles,

1 roll of wire,

1 box of combs,

6 sheets of wrapping-paper,

1 blacking-brush,
12 papers tobacco,

I dozen towels,

1 dish-pan (3 gallons),

1 baking-pan,

1 dozen deep tin plates,

1 »« tin plates,

1 tin cup,

6 teacups and saucers,

2 tin tumblers,

2 tunnels,

2 toasting-irons,

2 basting-spoons,
12 large spoons,
12 teaspoons,

1 butcher's knife,

G knives and forks,

1 basin,

1 handsaw,

1 hatchet,

1 hammer,

2 pocket looking-glasses,
1 nutmeg-grater,

1 brush broom,

1 corkscrew,

2 candlesticks.

This brief review of the Sanitary Commission ex
hibits but an outline of its organization. Some day
its history will be written, but even that will give but
a faint conception of the magnitude and importance of
the work it has accomplished. As has been so well
said, ** Never, till every soldier whose last moments it
has soothed, till every soldier whose flickering life it
has gently steadied into continuance, whose waning
reason it has softly lulled into quiet, whose chilled
blood it has warmed into healthful play, whose failing
frame it has nourished into strength, whose fainting

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 79

heart it has comforted with sympathy, — never, until
every soul has poured out its story of gratitude and
thanksgiving will its history be complete; but long
before that time, ever since its helping hand was first
held forth, comes the blessed voice, ' Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye
have done it unto me.' "

80 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THF.

CHAPTER V.

A WOMAN'S MINISTRY.

The Battle of Petersburg. — The Colored Hospital at City Point. —
Hospital Kitchens in Virginia and the Crimea. — Her Influence
in the Wards.

FTHHE battle of Cold Harbor demonstrated the fact
JL that Richmond could be carried from that line only
by an enormous expenditure of life, if at all ; and the
army was rapidly transferred across the James, mak
ing heavy assaults on Petersburg on the 15th, IGth,
17th, and 18th of June, which resulted in gaining
important ground, but failed to give an entrance into
the city.

Up to this time the colored troops had taken but a
passive part in the campaign. They were now first
brought into action in front of Petersburg, when the
fighting was so desperately contested that many thou
sands were left upon the field. The wounded were
brought down rapidly to City Point, where a tempo-

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 81

rary hospital had been provided. It was, however,
in no other sense a hospital, than that it was a depot
for wounded men. There were defective management
and chaotic confusion. The men were neglected, the
hospital organization was imperfect, and the mortality
was in consequence frightfully large. Their condition
was horrible. The severity of the campaign in a ma
larious country had prostrated many with fevers, ami
typhoid, in its most malignant forms, was raging with
increasing fatality.

These stories of suffering reached Miss Gilson at a
moment when the previous labors of the campaign had
nearly exhausted her strength ; but her duty seemed
plain. There were no volunteers for the emergency,
and she prepared to go. Her friends declared that she
could not survive it ; but replying that she could not
die in a cause more sacred, she started out alone. A
hospital had to be created, and this required all the
tact, finesse, and diplomacy of which a woman is capa
ble. Official prejudice and professional pride had to
be met and overcome. A new policy had to be intro
duced, and it had to be done without seeming to
interfere. Her doctrine and practice always were
instant, silent, and cheerful obedience to medical and
disciplinary orders, without any qualification whatever ;
4*

HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

and by this she overcame the natural sensitiveness of
the medical authorities.

A hospital kitchen had to be organized upon her
method of special diet ; nurses had to learn her way,
and be educated to their duties; while cleanliness,
order, system, had to be enforced in the daily routine.
Moving quietly on with her work of renovation, she
took the responsibility of all changes that became
necessary; and such harmony prevailed in the camp
ihat her policy was vindicated as time rolled on. The
rate of mortality was lessened, and the hospital was
soon considered the best in the department. This was
accomplished by a tact and energy which sought no
praise, but modestly veiled themselves behind the
orders of officials. The management of her kitchen
was like the ticking of a clock — regular discipline,
gentle firmness, and sweet temper always. The diet
for the men was changed three times a day ; and it
was her aim to cater as far as possible to the appetites
of individual men. Her daily rounds in the wards
brought her into personal intercourse with every
patient, and she knew his special need. At one time,
when nine hundred men were supplied from her
kitchen (with seven hundred rations daily), I took
down her diet list for one dinner, and give it here

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 83

in a note,* to show the variety of the articles, and
her careful consideration of the condition of separate
men.

The following passage from the pen of Harriet
Martineau, in regard to the management of the kitchen
at Scutari by Florence Nightingale, is true also of
those organized by Miss Gilson in Virginia. The
parallel is so close, and the illustration of the daily
administration of this department of her work so vivid,
that, if the circumstances under which it was written
were not known, I should have said it was a faithful

* List of rations in the Colored Hospital at City Point, being a dinner
on Wednesday, April 25, 1805 : —

Roast Beef, Tomatoes,

Shad, Tea,

Veal Broth, Coffee,

Stewed Oysters, Toast,

Beef Tea, Gruel,

Mashed Potatoes, Scalded Milk,

Lemonade, Crackers and Sherry Cobbler,

Apple Jelly, Roast Apple.

Farina Pudding,

Let it not be supposed that this was an ordinary hospital diet. Al
though such a list was furnished at this time, yet it was only possible
while the hospital had an ample base, like City Point. The armies,
when operating at a distance, could give but two or three articles; and
in active campaigns these were furnished with great irregularity.

84 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

picture of our kitchen in the Colored Hospital at City
Point : —

" The very idea of that kitchen was savory in the
wards ; for out of it came, at the right moment,
arrowroot, hot and of the pleasantest consistence ; rice
puddings, neither hard on the one hand nor clammy on
the other ; cool lemonade for the feverish ; cans full
of hot tea for the weary, and good coffee for the faint.
When the sinking sufferer was lying with closed eyes,
too feeble to make moan or sign, the hospital spoon
was put between his lips, with the mouthful of
strong broth or hot wine, which rallied him till the
watchful nurse came round again. The meat from
that kitchen was tenderer than any other, the beef tea
was more savory. One thing that came out of it was
the lesson on the saving of good cookery. The mere
circumstance of the boiling water being really boiling
there, made a difference of two ounces of rice in every
four puddings, and of more than half the arrowroot
used. The same quantity of arrowroot which made a
pint thin and poor in the general kitchen, made two
pints thick and good in Miss Nightingale's."

Again, in contrasting the general kitchen with the
light or special diet prepared for the sicker men, there
was all the difference between having placed before

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 85

them " the cold mutton chop with its opaque fat, the
beef with its caked gravy, the arrowroot stiff and
glazed, all untouched, as might be seen by the bed
sides in the afternoons, while the patients were lying
back, sinking for want of support," and seeing " the
quick and quiet nurses enter as the clock struck,
with their hot water tins, hot morsels ready cut, bright
knife, and fork, and spoon, — and all ready for instant
eating ! "

The nurses looked for Miss Gilson's word of praise,
and labored for it ; and she had only to suggest a
variety in the decoration of the tents to stimulate a
most honorable rivalry among them, which soon
opened a wide field for displaying ingenuity and taste,
so that not only was its standard the highest, but it
was the most cheerfully picturesque hospital at City
Point.

This Colored Hospital service was one of those
extraordinary tasks, out of the ordinary course of
army hospital discipline, that none but a woman could
execute. It required more than a man's power of
endurance, for men fainted and fell under the burden.
It required a woman's discernment, a woman's tender
ness, a woman's delicacy and tact ; it required such

86 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

nerve and moral force, and such executive power, as
are rarely united in any woman's character. The
simple grace with which she moved about the hospital
camps, the gentle dignity with which she ministered to
the suffering about her, won all hearts. As she passed
through the wards the men would follow her with
their eyes, attracted by the grave sweetness of her
manner ; and when she stopped by some bedside, and
laid her hand upon the forehead and smoothed the
hair of a soldier, speaking some cheering, pleasant
word, I have seen the tears gather in his eyes, and his
lip quiver, as he tried to speak or to touch the fold of
her dress, as if appealing to her to listen, while he
opened his heart about the mother, wife, or sister far
away. I have seen her in her sober gray flannel gown,
sitting motionless by the dim candle-light, — which was
all our camp could afford, — with her eyes open and
watchful, and her hands ever ready for all those end
less wants of sickness at night, especially sickness that
may be tended unto death, or unto the awful struggle
between life and death, which it was the lot of nearly
all of us at some time to keep watch over until the
danger had gone by. And in sadder trials, when the
life of a soldier whom she had watched and ministered

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 87

to was trembling in the balance between earth and
heaven, waiting for Him to make all things new, she
has seemed, by some special grace of the spirit, to
reach the living Christ, and draw a blessing down as
the shining way was opened to the tomb. And I have
seen such looks of gratitude from weary eyes, now
brightened by visions of heavenly glory, the last of
many recognitions of her ministry. Absorbed in her
work, unconscious of the spiritual beauty which in
vested her daily life, — whether in her kitchen, in the
heat and overcrowding incident to the issues of a large
special diet list, or sitting at the cot of some poor
lonely soldier, whispering of the higher realities of
another world, — she was always the same presence
of grace and love, of peace and benediction. I have
been with her in the wards where the men have craved
some simple religious service, • — the reading of Scrip
ture, the repetition of a psalm, the singing of a hymn,
or the offering of a prayer, — and invariably the men
were melted to tears by the touching simplicity of her
eloquence.

These were the tokens of her ministry among the
sickest men ; but it was not here alone that her
influence was felt in the hospital. Was there jealousy

88 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

in the kitchen, her quick penetration detected the
cause, and in her gentle way harmony was restored ;
was there profanity among the convalescents, her daily
presence and kindly admonition or reproof, with an
occasional glance which spoke her sorrow for such
sin, were enough to check the evil ; or was there hard
ship or discontent, the knowledge that she was sharing
the discomfort too, was enough to compel patient
endurance until a remedy could be provided. And so,
through all the war, from the seven days' conflict upon
the Peninsula, in those early July days of 1862,
through the campaigns of Antietam and Fredericks-
burg, of Chancellors ville and Gettysburg, and after the
conflicts of the Wilderness, and the fierce and unde
cided battles which were fought for the possession of
Richmond and Petersburg, in 1864 and 1865, she la
bored steadfastly on until the end. Through scorching
heat and pinching cold, in the tent or upon the open
field, in the ambulance or on the saddle, through rain
and snow, amid unseen perils of the enemy, under fire
upon the field, or in the more insidious dangers of con
tagion, she worked quietly on, doing her simple part
with all womanly tact and skill, until now the hospital
dress is laid aside, and she rests, with the sense of a

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 89

noble work done, with the blessing and prayers of hun
dreds whose sufferings she has relieved or whose livea
she has saved, being,

" In the great history of the land,
A noble type of good
Heroic womanhood.**

90 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

CHAPTER VI.

CITY POINT FIELD HOSPITALS.

City Point. —Medical Director, Dr. Edward B. Dalton. — GeneraJ
Grant. — Negroes' Evening Service. — Sermon of a Colored Ser
geant.

CITY POINT, the magnificent base of our armies,
claims a word of notice. Although in former
days it must have been sleepy enough, even with the
commerce of Richmond in its streets, it is now wide
awake. A new civilization follows on in the track of
war. If any of the F. F. V.'s are left to claim their
own, they would never know it to be the same place.
Through all its ceaseless activity I never saw one of
the old inhabitants. The few scattering houses were
monopolized by clerks of commissaries and provost
marshals ; new buildings filled out the streets, — rough
pine shanties, markets, sutlers' shops, clothing stores,
ambrotype saloons, hotels, and chapels, — like the
mushroom growth of Pike's Peak or California. The

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 91

headquarters of General Grant were on a bluff at the
junction of the James and the Appomattox, where
these rivers open out like a lake, while beyond were
the rich abandoned plantations, and the low fertile
plains, all trampled over by the foot of war. An old
villa, with its wide veranda, all green and beautiful
amidst its clinging vines, served as the office for Gen
eral Ingalls, the chief quartermaster of the army ;
while upon the lawn, under spreading oaks, were plain
log huts, the camping ground of the lieutenant-gen
eral. Here, puffing his cigar with that comfortable
repose of manner which many have mistaken for dul-
ness, with nothing but his three stars to attract the
notice of a stranger, he moved about his headquarters,
keeping his own counsel, developing silently his own
plans, to be seen at any time, and easy to be ap
proached by all.

He deals with all questions in a plain, business-like
manner, with the least show of feeling, and with that
plain common sense which decides on the instant, and
then dismisses the subject from the mind. His un-
demonstrativeness had nothing repulsive about it, for
he made and retained many strong friends. With
none of that showy pretension which sometimes wins
the personal devotion of an army, General Grant, by

92 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

the kindness and consideration with which he listens
to the humblest soldier, gained that enduring con
fidence of his men which no reverses could destroy.

A colored sergeant in our hospital, whose mother
was dying, wished a furlough. The application, if
made in the ordinary routine, would be too late ; he
therefore went to headquarters, and found the general
engaged with a member of his staff. Turning to the
soldier, he said, "Well, sergeant?"

The man stated his case briefly, and when he
finished, the general looked him steadily in the eye
with that same penetration which always places men
just where they belong, and immediately directed his
adjutant-general to make out a thirty days' furlough.
When it was ready the general handed it to the ser
geant, took his hand, and, shaking it, kindly said, —

" Sergeant, I hope you'll find your mother living
when you get home," which could bring no response
from the poor colored soldier except a choking "God
bless you, general."

The wharves were built parallel with the river half
a mile in length, and with storehouses containing the
subsistence, forage, ammunition, and equipment of the
army, lere were steamers and vessels of every de
scription discharging ; the freight was rapidly loaded

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, 93

into cars, which moved out in long, heavy trains to the
front, and there was the greatest activity everywhere.

The road to the hospitals led us by the Bull Ring,
the picturesque camp of the Fifteenth Regiment of New
York Engineers, the wagon train camps, corrals for
mules and horses, long stables of brushwood, thatched
with boughs of evergreen, groups of low huts for the
wagoners, while cavalrymen were clanking along on
their jaded beasts ; ambulances, army teams, and ar
tillery, half obscured in suffocating clouds of dust
(which, in this dry summer, was nearly twelve inches
deep), completed the picture.

Dr. Edward B. Dalton, the Medical Director, held
his position since the commencement of the campaign
in May. At Fredericksburg, at White House, and
through all the terrible emergencies of that experi
ence, he had displayed eminent administrative ability ;
and this was now exercised at City Point. With
every facility furnished by a magnificent army base,
and after the experience of four years, he so adjusted
the complicated machinery of hospital administration
as to leave his mark upon the field hospital system,
which, in the previous history of the war, had never
been brought to such perfection. His wise forethought
and skill, his delicate tact in quietly overcoming diffi-

94 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

calties, his sound judgment in matters of detail, his
decision and firmness of purpose, his scientific accom
plishments, his genial and kindly manners, won for
him the confidence of his superior officers, and the
cordial good-will of all who were brought into official
relations with him.

The Depot Field Hospitals were situated a mile
from the landing, upon a wide plateau, extending back
from the Appomattox, and were divided into the Sec
ond, Fifth, Sixth, Ninth, and Cavalry Corps Hospitals,
representing each corps of the Army of the Potomac.
A branch railroad, running directly through the centre
of the hospital grounds, was constructed from the
main military line, in order that the sick or wounded
sent in from the division hospitals at the front might
avoid ambulance transportation, and thus be taken
directly from the cars and laid upon their hospital
beds.

Connected with each hospital were a dispensary, a
commissary storehouse, general and special diet kitch
ens, together with the convalescents' dining-room. The
Sanitary Commission also established a station in each
corps. These stations were supplied by daily requisi
tions from the barge, the central storehouse, and the
headquarters of the Commission at this point. Each

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 95

hospital had accommodations for from fifteen hundred
to two thousand men. Through the summer months it
was a vast encampment of tents, which were changed
as winter approached, to log barracks with boarded
roofs, an even temperature being more easily main
tained in them than under canvas coverings. Every
fanciful decoration which the ingenuity of nurses or
ward-masters could suggest was carried out, Some
were of most unique design, executed with taste and
skill ; festoons of many-colored papers covering the
rough walls, arched over the beds, or hanging grace
fully over windows and doors, so that there was an air
of bright and cheerful cleanliness, which was always
refreshing.

The chaplain of the hospital was Orderly Sergeant
Morgan, of the Forty-third United States colored
troops, an eloquent preacher, a man of most earnest
and devout spirit, and of unquestioned ability.

Just before evening service, Juba, with a face all
aglow with expectation, came scratching at the tent.
Entering, with hat in hand, he said, " Thar's a new
preacher in de camp, and Ts jes' studyin' if I can get
to go dis evenin'?" So Juba went. Following on, I
passed long lines of blackened tents, cheerless and
cold; grim suffering was everywhere; the curling

96 HOSPITAL LIFE AV THE

smoke was issuing from the kitchens ; the guard
were patrolling on their lonely beat ; nurses were
moving about in their monotonous toil, while the
pattering rain and the soggy Virginia mud sent
through me a chilly homesickness and sense of des
olation not easily described. Groping through the
darkness, yet guided by the low, plaintive air of their
opening hymn, I reached their rude hut of logs, used
as the wash-house of the hospital, as well as for their
place of worship. On such occasions this was always
crowded with its dusky congregation, gathered as it
was within the limits of the colored hospital. The
building was about fifty feet in length, the crevices
cemented with mud, the roof being made of canvas,
and the interior left rough and cheerless. Lanterns
were hanging from the poles which supported the
structure, and the dim candle-light produced a ghastly
glare, which made it difficult to recognize faces, how
ever near. Humble they were and in earnest, moved
by the simplest impulse of their hearts, and bound
together in their devotions by one common bond — the
love of a common Father. The congregation were
standing, singing a hymn, after which the preacher
read a few passages of Scripture and gave out another
hymn, —

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 97

" O for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame," —

which was read with deep feeling, and even with start
ling effect. His prayer was fervent and appropriate,
moving these simple hearts, and calling from them
such ejaculations as " Dis lowly heart am waitin' for
you. Lord," and " Yes, Lord, do come now an' visit
dis poor soul," and the like. The text was, " And
bearing His cross, he went forth into a place called the
place of a skull." The sermon was prefaced by the
remark, that we all had life before us, with all its
burdens and sorrows ; and that we had come there to
be strengthened for duty. We should, therefore, open
our hearts to all the best influences of the place, and
then we should go forth ready for the battle like
" giants refreshed with new wine." And, if any were
in any trouble or sorrow, or if there were heavy
burdens resting upon the heart, if we went to Jesus
and laid them at his feet, and were willing to take his
light and easy yoke, they would melt away like dew
before the effulgent brightness of the sun. The ser
mon was an appeal to his hearers to place themselves
under the influence of Christ. Pie pictured the suffer
ings of the Saviour, showing how meekly, yet with
what patience and strength, they were borne ; but he
5

98 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

dwelt upon the idea that divine Justice demanded the
sacrifice. " Approaching Golgotha, bearing not only
the cross, but the weight of your sins and miue
upon his overburdened heart, he was fresh from the
humiliations of the judgment hall. There mocked,
with the purple robe, scourged with the whip, his ten
der temples pierced with thorns, with the blood ana
sweat upon his brows, all along the way he suffered
the derision of the people, who, with cries of ' Crucify
him, crucify him ! ' were pressing him on to his exe
cution. Has he robbed a widow or an orphan? Has
he any guile upon his lips? Has he taken gold or
silver, or are his hands dripping with blood, that he is
dragged thus to a Place of a Skull? Ah, no. He is
the pure, the meek, the guileless one ; but it must
needs be that one must die. The wrath waxed hotter
and hotter, that it might not be appeased by any
ransom less than this very Son of God ; and so the
blazing sword leaps from the scabbard of justice, and
the doom is sealed. As he struggles up to the summit,
he faints and falls under the weight of the cross.
There, upon the hill-top, stands Justice waiting to
complete the sacrifice which four thousand years ago
was appointed for this hour. She waits to set her seal
upon the atonement. The time is expiring, while yet

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 99

the overburdened one is staggering up the hill ; but he
reaches it not yet. Is the hour, then, to pass, and the
world to be forever lost? Where, then, she asks, is He
who was to offer himself a ransom? The hour will
strike, and the doom will be fixed forever. O God,
what an hour ! Millions stand in dread expectancy.
Hell yawns before them, and the heat of eternal fires
is around them, and the appealing cry goes up to
heaven that they may yet be saved. With painful
feet and a weary heart he was slowly moving on to the
sacrifice. He was treading the wine-press alone, but
it was not of Paul, or James, or John that he was
thinking there. It was of the world, of you and me
in our low estate and need. As the moment ap
proaches, Calvary is reached. He is seized and laid
upon the cross. Sharp nails are driven by merciless
blows through his hands and feet. The cross is lifted
and plunged into its place ; and while darkness covers
the face of the earth, and the veil of the temple is
rent, and women fall weeping at his feet, the work is
done. He has not flinched nor murmured against the
inexorable decree. He simply prays his Father to for
give his murderers, while the mercy-seat is sprinkled
with his blood. The debt was cancelled at last ; he
cried, ' It is finished,' and our salvation was secured.

100 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Seventy-two Roman soldiers guarded the cross, pass
ing and repassing, wagging their heads, and saying,
4 We have him now. Even his God cannot save
him.' The Pharisee rubbed his hands, chuckling in
derision, and devils enjoyed the triumph. But wait,
ye powers of hell ! Your doom is written in charac
ters of living fire ! In the dark chambers of the
night, for three days, he waited and slept. On the
resurrection morning, Gabriel and St. Michael speak ;
the bonds of the grave are broken ; the sleeping Jesus
rises ; archangels move out in majesty and glory ; and
through the trackless ether, quicker than the light
ning's flash, the risen Lord ascends upon his blazing
chariot, and rests upon the bosom of his God."

The effect of this rude eloquence upon these poor,
ignorant creatures was a most curious exhibition of
human nature. The preacher then made an appeal to
them to follow this long-suffering Saviour ; to give up
their old ways of life, their profanity, their indiffer
ence, their sins, and to become truly Christian men.
They wept and clapped their hands, shouting, "Amen,
amen ! " " I'll ship for glory ! " u Dat's so ! " " Yes,
Lord, send a witness ! " &c. They swayed to and fro,
calling upon the Lord Jesus to forgive them, to wash
them clean, amid groans and cries for help.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 101

One old man rose and said, " While de bredren an'
sisters are singin' 'An' must dis body die?' let all
who lub de Lord, an* would wear de golden crown, an'
be landed safe on Canaan's shore in de last great an'
terrible day, come up to de altar an' help us beg for
mercy on dare poor souls."

Then followed a scene which baffles description.
Numbers of men and women, " convinced of sin,"
went forward, knelt down, and amid groanings and
wails of agony, prayed to be saved from the bottomless
pit, and from the fire which is never quenched ; while
we were hoping that the new birth, if such it really
was, might prove a constantly renewing influence with
the life of every day.

102 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THIS

CHAPTER VII.

TEE SILENT SORROWS AT HOME.

The Village Post-office. — Soldier's Letter. — The unknown Dead
— The lonely Italian, Giovanni Quaglia. — Italian Letters.

THE news of battle, it comes swift and sure. For
four long years it has flashed over the wires,
bringing suspense and desolation to every hamlet and
village in the land. For days there is an unnatural
quiet through the household, which goes on with the
silent routine, under the painful pressure of uncer
tainty, until at last a message or a letter tells the
whole.

As I have stood in a country village post-office,
watching the tragedies pictured on the faces awaiting
there the opening of the mail, I have seen strong men
come in and take their " soldier's letter," tear off, with
a trembling hand, the envelope, and wail out, " He is
dead! he is dead ! How can I tell his mother? " I
have seen two women enter, — one sad, and care-worn,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 103

and old, leaning upon a younger, a daughter, perhaps.
They receive the letter and pass out. A glance has
told them it is a stranger's hand, while a wild fear
sweeps over their hearts, which they restrain till they
are quite out of sight. Then the letter is opened.
" May God help thee and me, Jane ! " is all she says,
while they hurry on to their lowly dwelling, where they
may hide their grief, where there need be no conceal
ment of its cause, and no restraint upon its utterance.
" An only son of his mother, and she a widow."

Here is another mourner, with a shadow not less
dark upon her life, who must struggle on alone, — she
who had hoped to be a wife, but now not less a
widow. And this same story has been repeated in
how many forms, in how many homes, all over the
land ! With the witness of such griefs as these, while
striving for these alleviations of suffering in the field,
there was the thought of those at home, who, through
long and weary months, have waited for tidings of
those who have died, hoping for some explanation of
the interrupted letters, and the silence which to many,
alas ! is the silence of the grave. And yet, in thou
sands of cases, this explanation never comes ; and the
suspense is a living grief, a lasting sorrow. Men died
every day, and were carried out to the dead-house for

104 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

burial, who left no trace of friends, hardly a name to
be recorded on a head-board. Look into that part of
any soldiers' burial-field which is devoted to the " un
known," and see the proportion buried there. Turn,
then, to the lists of names recorded, and ask of their
families if they have received the notice of their death.
This office was left to any comrade who might know
the friends, to any humane person who was interested
in the case ; but it was not provided for as a part of
the regular routine of hospital duty. The constant
sight of the dead carried out for burial deeply touched
me, and suggested a want, which might be easily sup
plied, of a complete list of the patients, with the
address of their nearest relative. I found that nearly
all the men had close family ties. Their hearts were
as tender, their sensibilities as keen, their emotions as
deep as ours. They were quickly moved by old mem
ories of home, of father or mother, of wife or chil
dren ; and our appealing to those affections, aside from
its moral effect, had a good sanitary influence, the men
being grateful for such appeals, and responding heartily
to them. In our hospital such a list was attempted,
and its value was every day illustrated by the touching
letters of thankfulness received from homes which
were clouded indeed by bereavement, which but for

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 105

such intelligence would have remained in that darker
sorrow of uncertainty until they should meet their
missing ones face to face in the other world. Mothers
wrote of their " undying gratitude " for the simple
announcement of the fact that their sons were in a
hospital ; or they wrote, " By the love you bear your
own mother, give me some tidings of my boy. Is he
alive? Where can I see him? Is he dead? When
and how ? "

In Washington the Sanitary Commission had a Di
rectory, which was as complete a record as possible
of names in the Washington hospitals. Mr. Bowne,
the chief of this bureau, writes thus in illustration of
the value of these records : —

" Of the many scenes witnessed in the bureau, I can
only mention a few without attempting a description.
A mother has not heard anything of her son since the
last battle ; she hopes he is safe, but would like to be
assured. There is no escape ; she must be told that
he has. fallen upon the ' Federal altar ; ' an agony of
tears bursts forth, which seems as if it would never
cease. Another, less excitable, docs not tire of telling
4 how good a boy he was.' ' No mother ever had such
a son as he,' sobs a third. A father presents himself, —
a strong man, and yet young in years, — to receive the
5*

106 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

same announcement, and sinks, with audible grief, into
a chair. Another, with pale face and tremulous voice,
anxious to know, yet dreading to hear, is told that his
boy is in the hospital a short distance off; he grasps
the hand with both of his, while tears run down his
cheeks, and without uttering another word leaves the
room. c It is very hard, my friend,' was said to one
mute with grief, ' but you are not alone.' ' I know it,
sir,' was the prompt reply, ' but he was the only one I
had.'

" A woman of more than ordinary intelligence and
appearance, with almost breathless voice, said, ' I want
to find my husband ; I have not heard from him for
several months. I have written to the officers of his
regiment, but do not get any reply ; can you tell me
where he is ? '

" ' Will you please to give me his name, and num
ber of his regiment ? ' ' O, yes, sir.' ' You will find
him at Lincoln Hospital ; the city cars pass near
the building, and the conductor will point it out to
you.' A momentary shade of incredulity is percep
tible ; then turning her full, deep eyes, swollen with
emotion, she gives one look, — a full reward for a month
of labor, — and in an instant is in the street. . . .
Thus the varied scene goes on. One inquirer leaves

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 107

the room grateful, buoyant, happy, to be followed by
another equally grateful, who will ' tread softly ' the
remainder of his days, for the ' light of his dwelling
has gone out/ As each departs, another figure is
added to the list of 4 inquiries and answers/ and the
seemingly monotonous work of the bureau is resumed."
This Directory, however, did not come into practical
operation in the field hospitals, and it was the want of
it which I attempted to supply. A man with whom I
had but just been talking, and whose address was
upon my list, passed out of his tent to dinner. In the
street of the hospital he fell dead. Nobody knew to
what ward he belonged ; he was " unknown," a soldier
just arrived. My book was called for, and there was
the whole story. The poor fellow was laid upon a
stretcher, and was carried to the tent for the dead ;
and when I went to see him, he was cold. I wrote to
his wife, enclosing a hundred dollar bill found in his
pocket-book ; and had it not been for this list, there
would have been another " Hannah at the window,"
waiting, watching through long years for the loved one
whom she would never see again. In this case she
was suffering for want of food ; her children were shoe
less, and thinly clad ; and the money, whioh would
otherwise have remained unclaimed in me adjutant-

108 -HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

general's office, met her want, and perhaps saved her
little family from cold and starvation.

Even a more striking illustration of the value of
such a list was shown in a case which we had watched
for many days with the tenderest interest — that of a
lonely Italian soldier, who had strayed from his regi
ment, sick and helpless, seeking refuge in our colored
wards. He could not understand a word of English ;

O /

and when we saw him, besides a wasting consumption,
he had the gnawing of homesickness, with which he
was passing rapidly away. We had been ministering
to his wants with all the care and sympathy which his
case awakened ; and by French, and such few Italian
words as we had at command, we tried to talk with
him. As we spoke of our cold climate, and contrasted
it with his own mild and beautiful Italy, his eyes
brightened, his face seemed radiant, and, with his
arms extended heavenward, he gasped out, " L* Italic
est paradise I " He seemed to see his own smiling
Pavia and Vigevano, to feel the soft breath of the
Mediterranean, and to bring up all the sunny memories
of his far-off home. He sank back and smiled, and I
placed my hand upon his heart to feel its throbbing.
His skin was white as an infant's ; and on my remark
ing this to him, he said, with a sad smile, " Oui, oui.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 109

llanc ! " and then, pointing to the group of colored
soldiers gathered about his bed, he tried to say, " Yet
all these are black." After much effort we found in
a neighboring hospital an Italian who could act as
our interpreter. There was no time to lose, for his
strength was failing fast. We were eager to learn his
story, which proved to be the old tale of deception and
fraud, of the cruelties of the bounty agents, and of
sufferings the sequel of which would soon be death.
He had been in the country but a few days, when,
he knew not how, he found himself clothed in a blue
uniform, and regularly enlisted in the military service
of the government. A man of delicate frame, he had
simply broken down from the severities and exposures
of the campaign, and here he was to die. His mind
reverted to his distant home, and he spoke with deep
emotion of his " poor old father and mother," and his
brothers, and of what a tragedy their separation had
proved ; of his dear old cathedral of Vigevano, and of
his employments, which he should never enter upon
again. He knew he was going to die. He felt that
the sands of life were fast running out, and that in a
few hours all would be changed. Yet he did not
shrink from death ; he welcomed it rather, for what
was life to him? It was only privation, hardship,

110 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

loneliness, and suffering. He had no influence to pro
cure his discharge ; he could make no appeal for jus
tice ; his comrades were strangers, and spoke a strange
tongue, of which he knew not a word ; he had no
companion to whom he could look for sympathy, or to
whom he could tell his story of wrong ; indeed, he
could hardly make himself understood by these new
friends, who were trying to comfort and cheer his last
hours. But one boon was granted him — that of hear
ing his native language from the lips of a countryman.
At first he seemed bewildered ; then, realizing the
whole, he was overjoyed that such a blessing should
have been his before he died. His deep, spiritual eyes
opened, expressing indescribable content and peace,
though there was still a restlessness and anxiety, of
which, for a long time, we could not guess the cause.
He was sinking rapidly. A weight was upon his
mind, and he had not the words or the wish to reveal
his trouble. At length I asked if he had money to
dispose of, assuring him that if he had, he might, with
perfect confidence, intrust it to us to be disposed of as
he might desire. This was his secret ; and, as he
gave a sigh of relief, he unstrapped his belt, which
contained, as it proved, eight hundred and fifty dollars.
His pulse was growing faint, and his mind seemed to

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. Ill

wander ; but by stimulants he was so far restored as to
understand our questions regarding his family, their
names and residence. He tried to write, but the
pencil trembled in his hand ; and through his lips, now
growing white, I could just catch the letters as he
spelled them out. There was clearly written out at
last his own name, " Giovanni Quaglia," and that of
his brother, " Giuseppe Quaglia, St. Andrews Street,
Vigevano, Department of Pavia, Province of Vige-
vano, Italy." The money was to be sent to him, to be
divided according to his discretion. The dying man
seemed now at ease, and I left him that he might rest.
As we withdrew, he held my hand firmly in both of
his, trying in this way to express the gratitude he
could not utter. The poor fellow never spoke again,
for, before the dawn, he had gone up into the light of
the eternal morning. His body was removed to the
tent for the reception of the dead ; and at four o'clock
of the following afternoon, two stretchers, upon which
were borne the body of a colored soldier who had died
in the cars on the way to the hospital, and this poor,
friendless Italian, were carried out to their graves.
There were two mourners walking on either side — a
sad funeral procession. We performed a short service
for the poor unknown negro, whom perhaps nobody

112 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

was to mourn, and for this stranger from another land.
Soldiers gathered about the graves, standing rever
ently with uncovered heads ; and while the earth
trembled with the tremendous firing all about us, we
committed these two soldiers of a holy cause to their
soldiers' graves. This was my Sunday's service.

Letters were at once despatched to Italy. Succeed
ing steamers brought answers, clothed in the warm,
fervent language of that demonstrative people, and
containing most touching evidences of gratitude for
our care. Both the originals and the translations are
given, to complete the illustration of the value of our
" book of records " to a family in another land, as well
as to show the tone of earnest feeling with which they
responded to a kind office, which there was no soldier
in the army too humble to have received at our hands.
It will also be seen that the last letter, dated June 17,
1865, contains an acknowledgment of a remittance of
2952 francs, the proceeds of the money committed to
our care.

* VIGEVANO, January 7, 1865.

MOST WORTHY SIR: I have not words to express
my thanks for your kind and charitable assistance to

* For the original letters see pp. 115-118.

ARjIY OF THE POTOMAC. 113

my poor brother Giovanni. I know that you are
blest in your vast country ; but gratitude is not want
ing to you also in Italy.

With respect to the execution of the last wish of my
poor brother, I send you enclosed a certificate of my
fraternity, and a power of attorney, in order that (after
deducting the expenses for converting into funds avail
able to us the effects left by my brother, — governing
yourself, in fine, according to the dictates of your
fatherly heart), you may cause a draft for the same to
be sent to my address. I would beg, if possible, also,
to have some article belonging to my brother, that I
might be the possessor of a last memorial of him. It
will also be conferring an additional favor upon me if
you would be pleased to inform me of what malady my
brother died, and how long he was sick. I should
further be doubly grateful if the prayers of the Church
shall be offered up for the deceased Giovanni.

May Heaven grant you every blessing, as also the
very worthy Mr. C. F. B.

Please to accept my sincere salutations and thanks,
with those of my aged father. We should both of us
esteem ourselves fortunate if we could in any way be
of service to you.

Believe me, your devoted servant,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

114 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

VIGEVANO, April 4, 1865.

ESTEEMED SIR : I have received your very kind
letter of the 28th of February, together with your
likenesses. You could not have bestowed upon me a
more precious gift than the portraitures of those who
watched over the last moments of my poor brother. I
assure you that I shall never part with them, and that
while I live they will be ever before me.

With respect to the money you have in keeping,
even as you have acted as a second father to my
poor brother, I beg you to continue to be so also to
me. You will please, therefore, to do entirely as you
think best for my interest, and I leave you fully em
powered to remit the amount whenever you think fit.

It will always be to me a happy circumstance to
receive tidings from you, so fatherly do I consider the
interest you have manifested towards me ; and I would
that Heaven would vouchsafe to me the privilege of
being in some little way useful to you ; it would be a
great consolation to me.

Accept, in the mean time, my most sincere salute
tions, and believe me,

Most respectfully, yours,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

ARMY OP THE POTOMAC. 115

VIGEVANO, June 17, 1865.

MOST ESTEEMED SIR: I have received your kind
letter of the 16th of May, with a bill of exchange for
2952 francs, payable 16th July ; and I will advise
you immediately on receiving the amount. In the
mean time I have not words sufficient to thank you
for so many favors conferred upon me ; but I shall
have your person in perpetual remembrance, as I also
beg you to keep me in your memory. An$ if I could
by any possible event be useful to you in these parts, I
should deem myself most fortunate. Whenever you
should think proper to favor me with tidings of your
self, they would be most gratefully received.

Accept, meanwhile, my most cordial salutations, and
believe me,

Sincerely yours,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

VIGEVANO, li 7 Gennajo, 1865.

DEGNISSIMO SIGNORE : Non 6 parole sufficient! per rin-
graziarla della caritatevole assistenza prestata al povero mio
fratello Giovanni. So che la Sa. Va. e benedetta nel suo
vasto paese ; ma non le manca la riconoscenza anche in Italia.

Rapporto all' esecuzione dell' ultima volontiji del povero mio

11G HOSPITAL LIFE IX THE

fratello, le acchmdo un attestato di fraternita, ed una procura
che la Sa. Va. (dedotto le spese anche per convertire in
assegni valevoli fra noi il valore lasciato dal mio fratello
Giovanni, regolandosi insomma col suo cuore di padre),
ritiri cio di cui se tratta ; ed in seguito me lo far£ avere al
mio indirizzo. Lo pregherei, se fosse possibile, di avere un
qualche oggetto che appartenesse al mio fratello, onde avere
un' ultima sua memoria come pure mi sara un nuovo favore
se la Sa. Va. vorra degnarsi di sapermi dire di quale malatia
e morto il mio fratello, e quanto tempo stette ammalato. Le
saro doppiamente grato, se fara dire una prece al Giovanni
estinto.

II Cielo le accordi del bene, come all' ottimo signore Carlo
Federico Bradford ; ed accetta i miei sinceri saluti e ringra-
ziamente, anche al nome del mio vecchio padre, che si do-
manderessimo fortunati se entrambi potessimo essergli utili
in qualche cosa ; e mi creda,

Suo devotissimo servo,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

VIGEVANO, 4 Aprile, 1865.

DEGNISSIMO SIGNORE : O ricevuto la gentilissima sua
lettera delli 28 Febbrajo, unitamente al suo ritrato e quello
della gentile Signora Gilson. Regalo maggiore non mi
poteva fare che quello d' aver 1' imagine di due cuori cosi
generosi, i quali anno assistito anche negli ultimi momenti

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 117

del povero mio fratello ; e le assicuro che non li abbando-
nero mai, e sin che vivro, staranno sempre a me dinanzi.

Riguardo la somma che tiene in deposito, siccome Lei a
fatto da secondo padre al mio povero fratello, quindi lo
prego di essere egualmente verso di me ; perci6 faccia Lei
come meglio crede onde fare al mio interesse, e cosi lo lascio
in facolta di spedirmeli quando crede opportune.

Mi sara poi sempre in grande favore onde qual volta avro
il piacere di ricevere delle sue notizie, mentre io la stimo
come mio padre, e desidererei che il Cielo mi volesse accor-
dare la grazia di poter essergli utile in qualche cosa, che
sarebbe per me 1' unica consolazione.

Aggradisca intanto i miei piti sinceri saluti, e mi creda suo

umilissimo servo,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

P. S. Voglia degnarsi di fargli tanti saluti alia gentile
Signora Gilson.

VIGEVANO, 17 Gugno, 1865.

PREGIATISSIMO SIGNORE: O ricevuto la gentile vostra
lettera delli 16 Maggio con una cambiale di fr: 2952 pagabili
16 Luglio, che subito vi render6 avvisato quando avr6 incas-
sato T amontare. Intanto non 6 parole per ringraziarvi dei
tanti favori che mi avete fatto ; ma avr6 eterna memoria
della vostra persona come pure vi prego voi pure di avermi
presente : e se per caso vi occorresse d abbisognarvi qualche

118 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

cosa da queste parti, ricordatevi di me, che potendo esservi
utile in qualche cosa mi domanderei fortunate. Quando
credete, favoritemi di vostre notizie che mi saranno sempre
care.

Accettate intanto i miei cordiali saluti e credetemi sempre,
Vostro afFmo. amico e servo,

GIUSEPPE QUAGLIA.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 119

CHAPTER VIII.

THE BULL-KING.

The Picturesque in the Hospital. — Scenes in the "Wagon Train
Hospital. — The Sixth Corps. — Their Bivouac. — The Bull-
Ring. — Sufferings of the Prisoners. — Their Destitution. — Their
Wants supplied. — Men under Sentence of Death.

THE high standard which the hospital had attained
made it necessary to keep on with the work of
renovation and improvement. As to one street of our
camp there was nothing to desire. The tents were
clean and cheerful ; the beds all neat and in order ;
the tent poles decorated with fanciful paper, or with
colored cloth ; festoons of red, white, and blue ; sprigs
of evergreen, cedar, or holly, with the little bright
berries, pinned to the tent cloth over each bed, or set
upon the little tables standing at each bedside. Then
the cups and plates were scoured, and the knives, and
forks, and spoons were as bright as so many silver
dollars fresh from the mint ; the stoves were black as

120 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

polish could make them ; and all was so fresh and
sweet, that one would be satisfied himself to be sick
there. Each nurse taxed his ingenuity and taste to
invent some new thing to please the eye ; and if a
stray "Harper's" found its way into camp, it was
soon appropriated, and the pictures pasted into a
frame, which hung conspicuously before the men. All
sorts of little devices like these added cheerfulness to
our camp, and a home-like feeling to the wards.

The camp was in the form of a hollow square ; the
light-diet kitchen, the dispensary, the surgeon's quar
ters, the sanitary supply store, and the steward's tent,
were all in the centre, and the hospital wards were all
round in the three streets of the square. One of these
streets had been below the mark. The nurses had
been reminded of this, but had neglected their duty.
They were called up, ordered to " fall in " in two
ranks, which led them to fear that they were to be
sent to their regiments. In a few words the law was
laid down ; they were marched through some of the
tents on the other side of the camp, and two days
were allowed before inspection. In the mean time
the woods were scoured for green branches and holly
sprigs, and before the appointed day the tents were

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 121

ready for the examination. Thus our whole hospital
was brought up to its high standard.

Every day we were at the bedside of the dying,
trying to understand their last messages to wives or
mothers, trying to relieve the last pangs of those
whose spirits seemed to be just fluttering between
earth and heaven. One old negro in a tent next to
ours had tried to tell me what he wished me to write
to his family, and I had left him after administering a
little wine. Within ten minutes he sent for me again,
seeming brighter than when I had left him. He had
been thinking of all the kindness " which that little
lady and you, sir, had shown me, a poor Btranger in
this lonely country," and the tears dropped one by one
down upon his coarse beard as he tried to express his
gratitude. He told me to write to his wife that " he
was happy, for he had found friends, and he felt that
the good Father was very near ; " and so the old man
sank back upon his pillow to die.

Half a mile from our camp Was a wretched group
of tents, called " the hospital of the wagon train." It
was indeed no hospital, but a place where some thirty
sick men were lying utterly neglected, with little med
ical attendance, and but two nurses, with no comforts,
needing everything. Their more pressing wants were
6

122 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

supplied. Being civilians, and employed only as la
borers, they were not entitled to any medical care
except that which they could secure by payment, and
they had no claim upon the medical supplies. The
men were sick and destitute, /and we arranged for
those who needed care the most to send daily to our
kitchen for their diet, and promised that they should
receive such other attentions as we could give them.
They were rough, but intelligent and kindly ; Maine
men, hardy pioneers, who had, through exposure and
by working in the water, got inflammatory rheuma
tism, which had caused them the most acute suffering.
They were nearly all in this condition. One old,
gray-headed man, lying on a rough board bunk, quiet
and patient as a child, with that pale, suffering look,
and those deep, sunken eyes, which mark those who
have been wasting away with pain, said, when we
gave him of our stores, and laid by his side one thing
after another which he needed most, " We have these
societies in our town for the soldiers, but I never
began to realize the value of them till now. Mind,
I'm none of your flatterers. I'm an old man, have
had a hard lot in life ; I've got five sons in the army
— my all ; and if I never see them again, I give them
to the cause. You don't know how your coming here

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 123

kind o' cheers me up." We knew it did, for we saw
the tears gathering in his eyes ; and when I thought
of those five sons, I could not but recall the beautiful
letter of consolation then just written by Abraham
Lincoln to the poor widow who had buried her five
boys, when he spoke of the feeling of "solemn pride"
which was her precious privilege, now that she had
laid such a sacrifice upon the altar of her country. I
could not but feel that the same was applicable to him
also, — that " solemn pride."

As we returned, we went down to the bank of the

river, the point of junction of the James and the

Appomattox, which opened wide, and beautiful, and

calm, like the Bay of Naples. The rivers, blending

into one, were like a mirror. There was a lovely

purple haze over the whole country, and the trees and

undergrowth on the edge of the low shores on either

side were dimly reflected in the unruffled water. A

tow-boat, puffing white steam in great clouds, which

curled behind it, added to the picture, and was the

only thing to cause a ripple upon the surface ; and we

looked, trying to realize that this was the base of

operations of two gigantic armies, all so still and

peaceful in the foreground, and all so fiercely enei'-

getic in the rear.

124 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

The Sixth Corps, after its splendid service under
Sheridan in the Valley of the Shenandoah, was trans
ferred back to the Army of the Potomac early in
December, 1864. The First Division reached our
camp about noon, and bivouacked. Our hospital din
ner had been served, and we were uncertain what
disposition to make of the remaining pans of turkey,
when we thought of these men who had halted for an
hour's rest. Their haversacks were empty ; but fires
were soon blazing, coffee was soon boiling, and each
group was intent on the preparation of their scanty
meal. It was a picture, but I cannot paint it. The
corps was covered with the dust and heat of a great
campaign. They had been marching and fighting
with but little intermission for three months. They
were rough and rusty ; their uniforms were torn,
threadbare, and spattered with mud ; and the men
were rude, grim, and much in earnest. They had
an air of the unconquerable about them, a steady self-
reliance, and perfect enthusiasm for their leader and
their work, which was verified afterwards in their
characteristic and successful assault upon the enemy's
works. They gathered about their fires, hungry,
thirsty, grimy ; their knapsacks were thrown off, their
arms were stacked, and their burdens lightened for an

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 125

hour. Men were bringing wood and water, while the
coffee was boiling upon the coals, waiting for the
hard tack, which with it was to be their only meal.
The fellows lined the road, asleep, on the rampage, on
the lounge, and nibbling their scanty rations. We
started out with the remnant of our hospital dinner.
Turkey did not often grace the camp, and the boys
needed no other invitation than our approach. We
were instantly surrounded, and for a moment were
ready to think that these men were wolves in human
shape. The circle grew larger and larger. New
heads and faces, peering one above another, were
added to the crowd with every moment, while before
me were a hundred cups blackened by many a long
campaign, with a hundred voices, each demanding his
share of what wre had. Antony was standing near me
within the circle, holding high above his head this
other pan of turkey. A hundred hands were raised,
hands of every shape and shade, all extended to
scramble for a bone, each finger on the stretch, expres
sive of eagerness and want. In an instant the pan
was emptied, each soldier, with a hand full of turkey
soup, or of bare turkey bones, working his way out of
the inner circle, with a face of such jolly satisfaction
that we were repaid for all our trouble in their behalf

126 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Roughs and desperadoes are found in all armies,,
Under a system of bounties the dregs of Europe were
landed on our shores, and soon found their way into
the ranks. The business of recruiting was monopo
lized by men whose profession was gambling or thiev
ing, or who were adepts in the art of murder ; and
the result was desertion and bounty-jumping, and a
vast accumulation of greater or lesser crimes, which
demanded sharp and instant retribution. As a place
of confinement at City Point the Prisoners' Barracks
were established, known as the Bull-Ring of the army.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the painful im
pressions which the first view of this den left upon my
mind. Indeed, I have no colors dark enough to sup
ply all the shading to that terrible picture ; nor have I
the words in which to describe it, or the life within it,
as presented to me on my brief visit of inspection.

The pen was composed of three large barracks of
one story, which opened each into separate enclosures
or yards, surrounded by high wooden fences, strictly
guarded by sentries day and night, while this was all
enclosed in a single railing, between which and the
high fence a patrol guard was kept constantly in
motion. The inner sentry stood guard upon a raised
platform built out from the fence, which gave him a

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 12*

view of the three pens and of every prisoner in them.
At the entrance was a horizontal bar of wood, sup
ported by two upright posts, from which were sus
pended short ropes used for tying up men by the hands
or thumbs as a punishment. As I entered the yard,
four men were standing, some on tiptoe, tied with
their hands above their heads, without overcoats, shiv
ering in a sharp December wind, their hands black
with the cold. To illustrate the class of men thus
punished : one of these four, a man of fierce and des
perate spirit, who had threatened the lives of some of
his comrades, and upon whom already rested a charge
of murder, refused to give his name and regiment to
the court martial convened to try him. This blocked
the trial, as no witnesses could be summoned ; and, as
he was obstinate in his reticence, he was ordered to be
tied up every day until he would t -.11 the organization
to which he belonged. For six days he endured this
torture, which at any moment he could have relieved ;
and, as I afterwards learned, when he could bear it no
longer, and told his name and regiment, his spirit was
so utterly crushed and broken that he became as quiet,
inoffensive, and obedient as a child. The court mar
tial dealt, probably, with every variety of charge, from
petty thefts and disrespect to officers, up to desertions

128 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

to the enemy, and captures of these same deserters
with arms in their hands. But, innocent or guilty,
held for the highest crimes known to military law, or
for the common delinquencies or felonies of a soldier,
all were confined alike and together, awaiting trial.
At this time there were about four hundred men im
prisoned. Their condition was horrible. They were
destitute of clothing ; and, up to January, without
stoves, their sufferings were as needless as they were
intolerable. It was my fortune to obtain admission,
writh another member of the Sanitary Commission, to
estimate their wants, to look into their condition, and
to suggest such remedies, or provide such alleviations,
as we might have it in our power to offer — a privi
lege not before extended to a civilian. With a large
quantity of woollen shirts and drawers, stockings and
towels, paper and envelopes, we entered the enclosure.
It was a pen cf filth and vermin. Previous to this
visit, tickets for clothing had been issued to those who
were most in need. We stood upon a raised platform,
looking down upon the yard. The officer in charge
ordered the men out of the barracks, and they formed
in line. I shall never lose the impression of those
laces as they were turned up, each eager for some
thing, where they all needed so much. The men came

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 129

shuffling out of the building, with that listless air
which showed how indifferent they were to their fate :
couples chained together ; men half naked came alone ;
clad in every variety of garments, — Federal uniforms
and Confederate, — the blue, and the yellowish-gray,
all in rags ; some with a meal-sack over their shoul
ders, some with a gunny-bag for a jacket, others with
their cotton drawers, and with feet tied up in bagging,
to serve as shoes and stockings ; without hats, with
uncombed hair, ragged, filthy, all alive with vermin.
Here were hardened criminals, — the outlaws of so
ciety, — reckless and defiant, many of them under sen
tence of death, yet unconcerned about their fate, and
careless whether the execution were ordered for to
morrow, or were indefinitely postponed. There were
sixty or seventy others, who knew that after trial their
crimes would be expiated on the scaffold, or that they
would be " shot to death by musketry," yet accepted
their lot with a profane bravado which made one
shudder.

The line was formed, and our distribution began.
One by one they came forward. To the first, " Un
button that blouse, and let us see what you require."
It was stripped open, and he was naked to the waist,
" A shirt for you." The next man, with gunny-clotb
6*

130 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

tied over his feet, sore and bleeding with the cold,
" A pair of stockings." The next, comparatively com
fortable. " Only a towel." The next, with only a thin
pair of drawers, and no pantaloons, " A pair of draw
ers." And so, one by one, the men pressed forward,
— some with meal-sacks for a blanket, others without
even this protection, breaking the line in their eager
ness to receive something to keep them warm ; a shiv
ering, suffering crowd, pinched by the frosty morning
air ; their hands, and feet, and bodies blue with cold.
They moved about the yard, if for nothing more than
to keep up a brisk circulation ; men of all ages, from
the gray-haired to the youngest lads, and some so
utterly broken in spirit that they had evidently re
signed themselves to whatever might be in store for
them. One man, who previously had only the thinnest
clothing, without shirt or drawers, sat at night in his
bunk with his hands folded up under his jacket, which
he tightened about him, crying by the hour together.
There was one lad, of only twelve years, in this pen —
a bright little fellow, quick in his movements, the only
really cheerful one in all that crowd of men. As I
asked the lieutenant why a boy was placed with such
desperadoes, the lad looked up and said, with the most
perfect nonchalance, " I relieved my captain of some

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 131

of his greenbacks ; he had too many, and I had none ;
he didn't know how to use them, and I thought I
would spend them for him." The boy was demoral
ized ; but when I remonstrated with the officer against
confining such a lad with such associates, he said,
what I had already been convinced was true, that he
was as bad as any of the men, and could not be worse.
I replied that he might be made better, and ought to be
removed. He pointed to headquarters, and told me to
go there, if there was wrong to be redressed.

The court martial tried, on an average, four cases a
day. Five were sent away for execution the day I
was there. A negro was sentenced, for an attempted
crime, to the ball and chain. The chains were riveted
round his ankles, two heavy iron balls being attached ;
and when he walked, he either carried them in his
hands or dragged them after him, while the clanking
of the chain was heard wherever he moved.

After the distribution of the clothing we went
through the barracks ; and I could readily believe
the officer, who had been a prisoner at Richmond,
when he said that he would rather be confined in the
Libby Prison for six months than in the Bull-Ring for
one. They were about thirty feet in width by one
hundred and fifty feet long, built of rough boards, one

132 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

story high. Along the whole length of the barracks,
oo each side, were bunks, which held three or four
men each, the floor serving for one, and three being
made above it. In the centre of the building was
another range of them, which extended from end to
end ; and the scene here beggared all description. The
bunks were not filled, for many were in the yard ; but
each one had its occupants, and their condition was
loathsome in the extreme. They were lying upon the
boards, with no straw or blanket ; and although there
were no prison bars or dungeon walls, yet it was dark
and noisome. Lying all about us were men under
sentence of death, awaiting their call to the gibbet.
In one bunk was a man all curled up with chills,
wrapped in an empty sack for oats, without straw or
other covering. There was yet a spark of kindliness
left, as I could see by his subdued " Thank you,"
which was, in him, more than an utterance of words.
In one bunk were two men chained together, lying in
a state of utter wretchedness and despair. Their con
dition was horrible, and they were awaiting their
doom. I shall never forget the expression of their
faces as they uncovered them, nor the intense yearning
for companionship which was expressed in their eyes,
half obscured by their long matted hair, as they looked

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 133

up in response to something I said to them. They
were in the darkest corner, on the floor, so soon to be
executed, yet with nobody to speak one gentle word, or
to offer to them any kindly sympathy in their last hour.
But this state of things had been worse. Before
these barracks were built, the men were in little shelter
tents in the yard, and at night slept upon the ground
with no blankets or other covering to protect them.
In rainy weather they were exposed, with no over
coats, clad just as I have described them above. Com
plaints were made, and barracks were built ; and only
the day before my visit had stoves been put into them.
The barracks were built from a fund which accumu
lated, like a hospital fund, from the savings of rations
issued by the government. A full ration was more
than the necessities of a man required ; and where so
many were together, a saving was made and a fund
accumulated, which was appropriated for the benefit
of the men. The only redeeming feature of the whole
was the food and the arrangements for cooking it.
This was done in a separate building in the enclosure.
A large circular brick furnace was built, about four
feet high, containing six large caldrons, which were
set with grates and flues, ingeniously arranged for the
boiling of soup, meat, and coffee. I looked this

134 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

cooking department through during the preparation of
dinner, and all was clean and in order.

After our visit, stringent orders for cleanliness were
issued ; and, as the winter passed, their condition did
not grow worse ; and as spring opened, it improved
day by day.

ARMY Off THE POTOMAC. 135

CHAPTER IX.

CEAEACTEES IN THE HOSPITAL.

Arrival of the Wounded. — Last Words. — The New Hampshire
Soldier. — The Colored Drummer-Boy. — Tender Spots. — The
Vermont Soldier. — Influence of Suffering. — Hospital Bummers.
— Track, the Maine Artillerist. — A German Soldier of the
Third Generation. — Cheerfulness in the Hospital. — The Death
of Hartman. — Comfort-Bags. — Washing for the Hospitals.—
Contraband Camp.

THE absorbing interest of this hospital life increased
every day : with new cases, new characters, new
countenances, new sufferings, new stories of sorrow,
every hour was full. The wounded cavalry men
were brought in from the recent movements on our
left. The train stopped in the rear of our tent. It
was dark and raining. With our lanterns we went
out to assist their removal on stretchers, — some, alas !
who needed no sympathy now, who were past all heal
ing ! One poor lad, to be so tenderly cared for, with
both arms just amputated, was yet gentle and patient

136 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

in this loss, and confident that his friends would rally
to his aid. Another, with a bandage over both eyes,
had had one of them destroyed by a bayonet thrust in
a charge ; and such cases of individual suffering were
now to demand all our care. A bunch of grapes we
gave to one, a cup of water to another, a glass of wine
to another, — reaching, in this simple way, wants
which more ambitious offerings would not supply ; yet
all were received with speechless gratitude, and reacted
upon one's own heart in ways too subtle to be defined.
The story of such experiences can never be told. In
addition to the spoken wrord, there was the tone, the
look, the fluttering life, the stillness of the ward, and
the presence of death. If I could have written it as I
went along, — if I could have given pictures daguerre-
otyped from the instant impressions and experiences
of every hour, apart from its grouping, and coloring,
and shading, — it would have been a revelation of in
dividual character, a history of individual endurance,
an outline of those finer sensibilities and emotions
which enrich our human nature, and give a new sense
of its dignity, beauty, and nobility. There were many
things to touch the heart as we went from ward to
ward, too trifling indeed to jot down in a diary, or to
write in a letter, yet not too unimportant to recall

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 137

after they were gone, as a part of the tragedy of our
daily lives.

One poor fellow, who seemed to be as well as usual,
sufficiently strong to move about his tent, went to lie
down, and within two hours breathed his last. I
happened to be with him, administering stimulants,
chafing his hands and temples ; but the angel was
hovering over him, and the spirit took its flight. As
I stepped into another tent, another of the dead was
borne off to his burial on a stretcher. And so it went
on from day to day, with nobody to drop a tear, with
nobody to think of it a moment after the man was laid
in his grave.

Often the dying were conscious to the last ; some of
them realizing their condition, and waiting for the
summons, with a faith as simple as a child's. One
man said to me, " Tell my mother that I am dying ;
tell her that I have nothing to fear ; tell her I am sure
of an eternal home, for I know that my Saviour has
gone to prepare it." Another man said to me, u Noth
ing can befall me, for Jesus Christ does and will
sustain me." And so they passed on from day to
day, — some with the tenderest hearts and with a most
living faith, others benumbed and unconscious by dis
ease, or wild with the delirium of fever.

138 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

In one of our wards we had a little fellow, possibly
reaching the minimum stature of a soldier, but only
fourteen years of age, a New Hampshire lad, rugged,
intelligent, and of most winning countenance. I asked
him why he entered the service. He wanted to save
his country. He was sick from exposure, he would
admit ; but still he liked the service, was satisfied with
his rations, and " wanted to see the thing through."
A brave boy, away from the influences of home,
roughing it in the army with the rest, sleeping on the
ground, rolled in his blanket only, the coldest nights,
yet with no gnawing homesickness at his heart, only
cheerfulness, hopefulness, and good courage. He had
the true New England grit.

Another lad, — a sick, helpless, and friendless col
ored boy, — not quite fourteen, whose only home had
been a cold and cheerless camp, died, after many
weeks of wasting fever. He was a poor little waif in
a great army ; he had no memories of a pleasant child
hood, no links bound him to any human creature but
the rough soldiers who surrounded him, or to us his
friends, who were touched by the gentleness and sub
missive patience with which he bore his pains. He
had been wasting away for weeks, growing thinner
and paler every day ; at times sitting curled up at the

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 139

stove in the tent, always quiet and thoughtful. He
was one of the most gentle, lovable little fellows I
ever met. Although he suffered much, he never com
plained. He seemed to feel that he could not live, and
to look death in the face quietly and firmly all the
time. I am not sure that he fully realized it all ; but in
everything I said to him, he was so gently acquiescent
that it really seemed as if he was willing and ready to
die, if it so pleased the all-loving Father above. He
was a drummer boy ; and as he said to me with much
pathos once, " I have not a friend in the world,"
" Ah," said I, " Henry, we are your friends, and we
will do for you all we can to make you well, and to
make you happy." He knew and felt this ; and every
day I used to go into his tent and sit down beside him,
and try to make him realize that, although the world
about him might seem very cold and hard, yet there
was One who never forgot orphans and little friendless
children (for he was so small and thin that I could
easily have held him in my arms) ; and I endeavored
to cheer his loneliness by telling him of all the pleasant
people that I knew. Then he soon became too weak
to rise, and so, day after day, kept his bed, patiently
enduring, grateful for every effort to tempt his appe
tite, and for every attention that we could pay him. I

140 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

watched him day by day, and saw that the lamp was
only flickering, and that very soon we should have to
lay him away in the grave ; and so the little fellow
died as calmly and quietly as he had lived, leaving no
home to be darkened by bereavement, but going up to
a bright home, where we trust that he has found his
friends among the angels.

It is surprising to see what tender spots there are in
the hearts of some of our roughest men. I went with
Miss Gilson into one of the wards, where she was
asked to sing. Joining in some simple hymn, which
called forth a response from a few voices in different
parts of the tent, and finding how eager the men were
for more, she sang a plaintive little song, " Just before
the battle, mother," then the most popular song in the
army, and reproduced in a hundred different ways by
the soldiers or by the bands. There was perfect still
ness in the ward, and the melody melted into that
exquisite air, " I'm lonely since my mother died."
Nearly every man had raised himself on his elbow to
catch these notes. Some were wiping their eyes, and
others, too weak to move, were hiding their emotion,
which still was betrayed by the quivering lip, and the
single tear as it fell, but was not wiped away. One
fine fellow, a Vermont boy, very sick, could hardly

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 141

speak, when she went up and laid her hand upon his
head, and brushed back his fine, soft, black hair. He
was a man of delicate mould ; and she soon found, in
talking with him, that although a private in the army,
he magnified his position, while it also reflected back
its dignity upon him. Homesickness had done its
work. He had been in the hospital six months, after
the severe exposures of the earlier part of the cam
paign. He said to me, " Do you know how many
men die of homesickness in the army? O," said he,
" I feel it so much here" pressing his fingers over his
heart, " and I think it will wear me out."

As we moved about from tent to tent, or from bed
to bed, it is not true that every man in the hospital
presented such strong claims upon our sympathies.
These were only individual cases ; and as these are
generally mentioned in hospital experiences, people get
the impression that all hospital life is full of heroism,
of thrilling personal narrative, or of that which moves
or melts the heart to tenderest pity. Now, any true
picture of hospital life must tell the whole story. I
know that suffering subdues and softens any nature,
• however rough ; and that there is an influence all the
time in the hospital to bring out what is purest and
noblest in the heart ; still, the men who lie there are

142 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

only average men ; and while there may be many
choice spirits among them, and many who show every
day a noble fidelity to their position, yet a large pro
portion are those who have had no previous advan
tages of training ; who entered into the service from
various motives ; who are quite unused to the finer
susceptibilities and amenities of life, — all classes of
men, even to those who are unworthy of the uniform
they wear. We met all sorts of characters ; some
from whom I shrank with instinctive aversion ; others,
whom no kindness seemed to touch ; and others still,
who would play upon your innocence or your sympa
thies, practising those tricks of the army which were
unworthy of any man. And here were such of every
grade : the morose and the affable ; the kindly tem
pered and the churlish ; the outlaw and the gentleman ;
the tenderly educated boy, with a mother at home who
never forgets him in her prayers ; the man of high
and noble motive, who remembers his wife and little
children as the one sacred bond to keep him true ; and
the outcast of society, whom nobody would weep for,
— of whom the world says, perhaps too harshly, that
he is fit only for the front of the line of battle, and
whom society is glad to be rid of when he dies.
Yet these men were all soldiers in a common cause.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 143

They fought for our national honor, they fell bleed
ing in its defence, and all alike were entitled to all
the healing ministries of our service — to the balm
which we could pour into their aching wounds. There
were loathsome diseases which called for personal
service at the bedside, which yielded to him who ren
dered it only heartache and depression; there were
kindnesses and attentions which all had a right to
claim, yet which did not always meet with responses
of gratitude ; while without the most careful self-
discipline, one found himself serving one patient at
the expense of another, — neglecting the outcast for
the sake of the gentleman. We did have our pets in
the hospital, and we could not help it. How different
was it to go into one tent and see a poor boy raised in
bed, dying of a rapid consumption, yet so cheerful,
subdued, and quiet in his sufferings, thankful for every
word of sympathy, or for any attention to his comfort,
and then pass on to another tent of men, convalescent,
perhaps, who found pleasure only in the vilest litera
ture (for which we always substituted decent books),
men whose tastes were low, who had no habits of
personal cleanliness, and had to be educated up to it
every day. Thus we had every variety of character
in our work. It was not all poetry, nor was it pretty

144 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

sentiment to cry over. It was hard, exhausting work,
sometimes discouraging, and always sad. There were
few gleams of sunshine, there were many clouds ; but
whether the burden were easy or light, we had to
carry it cheerfully and hopefully unto the end.

In the transfer of colored troops from the Army of
the Potomac to the Army of the James, a regiment
passed through our hospital and camped in the edge
of the woods directly in our rear. The surgeon
reported his sick. The Medical Director ordered them
into our vacant beds, and I was sent to see their con
dition and to get them in. Fifty-five men were lying
out without shelter from the dampness of the evening,
with no more care than a surgeon with no medical
supplies could give, and altogether the men were in a
sad and suffering condition. They were bolstered up
against the trees ; fires had been built before them,
and they were needing everything. Ambulances were
provided, and before midnight they were in comfort
able beds. This was no sooner done than the steam
whistle spoke the arrival of another train to be cared
for — cases of black, malignant typhoid ; many help
less on stretchers, some shivering with chills, others on
fire with fever — a picture, by the dim candle-light,
of raiserv indeed. When the work is over we seek

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 145

our rest, and morning finds those who had died during
the evening, in the dead tent, with their names pinned
upon their blankets, wrapped ready for their humble
burial.

" Trask is dead," said Parrish to me one afternoon
on my return from the front. A strong bond of sym
pathy had existed between us, and for weeks I had
watched his painful decline with an interest which I
sometimes thought only one brother could feel for
another in such an experience ; and now in my absence
he had died. I went to the dead tent alone, and
gently removed the blanket which was his only shroud.
He lay, calm and placid, and free from pain, next to
a comrade who had died the same hour, a helpless
cripple, both occupying beds side by side. If ever
sickness illustrated the triumph of spiritual power over
physical weakness and pain, his, in that humble hospital
bed, had made it clear. When it became evident that
an operation was necessary to save life, in the nervous
quivering of the flesh, he groaned. It was but once,
and it was the only expression of pain I heard him
utter while he was under our care. I had some choice
port wine, which we gave him three times a day, and
for a time he seemed to be gaining slowly ; but it was
only in seeming, for he was really growing weaker and
7

146 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

weaker every day. One morning I went in to see
him, and as I put my hand upon his forehead he spoke
to me about his wife and the four little children whom
he should never see again. He went into the service
a private soldier, with the simple purpose of doing his
part, which he had done, as I afterwards learned, with
unspotted honor. He loved his family, and he loved
his country ; and if we are to judge of the character
of his service from the spiritual beauty of his last
days, — from his constancy, and patience, and strong,
courageous cheerfulness, — it must have been indeed
a service of which the purest patriot might well be
proud. But he was to die, and he knew it ; and as I
bade him good by, thinking to see him again, with the
pressure of his hand there was the moistened eye,
which I cannot but feel was his expression of the
closeness of the tie which bound us two together in
this last companionship of his life. The letters from
his wife, afterwards received, tried to express her
gratitude for our care. She knew he could not live,
and in her sorrow, which will darken her whole life,
she could only write, " It is so hard, it is so hard to
bear ! "

In one of our wards was a young German, a noble
fellow, a soldier of the third generation, his grandfather

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 14?

having been killed at the battle of Leipsic, under Na
poleon, and his father in the revolution in Germany in
1848. The young man enlisted early in the war, and
when his time expired he went in again. He was de
voted to the cause, and determined to see the struggle
through. Within him were smouldering those old fires
of liberty which had allured him to this country, and
finally into the strife ; and he was there fighting for a
cause which he believed to be his cause, as it was the
cause of every oppressed people on the earth. He had
been in every battle of the Army of the Potomac,
which, to a man who had not flinched, was indeed a
proud record. With his mother he had struggled on
for six years through poverty and neglect until he
made a comfortable home for her, and then he entered
the army. His face told of privation and suffering.
There were deeper lines in his forehead than one often
sees in men of twenty-two, and his whole face showed
a manhood well controlled, a pure and resolute pur
pose, with a heart as gentle and tender as a woman's.
I could see this when he spoke of his mother, and of
that one furlough two years before, and of the blessing
which that brief visit was to him. Such a cheerful
face is always sunlight in the ward, where, upon
hospital beds, through days and weeks of pain, there

148 HOSPITAL LIFE IX THE

are so few alleviations. And as to cheerfulness, I am
reminded of an old man who was brought in weeks
before, so reduced that we thought it impossible that
he should live. I call him old, while yet he was only
forty-four ; but I can only think of him as a man of
sixty. Although so broken and prostrated, a mere
skeleton in frame, he was the most thoroughly cheerful
man we had. Whatever his condition, he would say,
" I think I am on the gain." He never looked on the
dark side ; and when I have wondered at his cheerful
ness, he would say, " We sick men have our duties
too. You are patient and kind to us ; we should
repay you, in the only way we can, by being cheer
ful." And this is heroism. It is not the heroism of
the battle-field, for that is thought to be a grander
thing than any such endurance ; but it is the harder
heroism of the hospital, which, if never recorded in
our literature, has its bright pages in the book of eter
nal remembrance.

Mr. Ware says, in his little tract, that cheerfulness
is not merely the grace of a full heart, — it is often the
charm of a sad one ; and I am sure that this old man
had enough to make him sad. As I saw him wasting
away day by day, and felt that the chillness of death
was creeping over him, and as at last I was called to

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 149

feel his pulse as it ceased to beat, I thought of that
little verse, so applicable here. —

" Cast as a broken vessel by,

Thy will I can no longer do;
Yet while a daily death I die,

Thy power I may in weakness show;
My patience may thy glory raise,
My speechless woe proclaim thy praise."

The last hours of the old year were consecrated, as
so many preceding days had been, by death. One
man, also prematurely old, who had been drafted, and
accepted as a good recruit but four months ago, leav
ing his little family of three children and their mother,
was now to fill a soldier's grave. Disease had made
fearful inroads upon his system ; and his face, so thin,
and pinched, and care-worn, always bore a concen
trated expression of pain. Still, he ever spoke hope
fully about his home, and about " the three smart little
boys as you'd ever wish to put your eyes on." He
asked me to write to " Mary," that she must not let
his sickness, or even his death, if he were to die,
trouble her too much. " Although it is very hard to
be so far away from her, yet I try to be happy, and
I keep saying over to myself all the hymns I ever
knew." And as he fell back upon this exquisite

150 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

resource of his memory, drawing upon the wealth of
his religious stores for the only comfort and peace
which could come to him in his last hours. Towards
evening the nurse called me, and said Hartman was
dying. I took my flask of brandy, a little bay rum,
and a clean linen handkerchief, and \vent into his tent.
His hands were clasped, his eyes were set, and his
face bore such an expression of suffering as made it
the most piteous sight that one could look upon.
Finding him conscious, but unable, although trying,
to speak, by stimulants and chafing he was so much
restored as to speak feebly what he wished to say.
He preferred to talk in German ; so, through a nurse
who was in the ward, he gave me his last messages to
those at home, and then sank rapidly, the heart having
entirely ceased within a few moments, although it was
impossible to tell the instant when he died. As the
sun went down in a flood of splendor on New Year's
Eve, we laid him away ; and as the morning of Sun
day broke still and peaceful on our camp, I could not
but think of the weeping women at the sepulchre, who
found the stone rolled away, and in their risen Lord
that death was swallowed up in victory.

Every home influence which can be brought to bear
upon a soldier's life in camp or hospital is needed tc

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. I5i

counteract the immoralities, the coarseness, and the
manifold temptations with which they are surrounded.
They derive pleasure from even a trifling remembrance,
and the simplest gift is not without its influence.
There was a distribution of " comfort bags," contain
ing all the little conveniences which a soldier on the
march or in the hospital is always glad to receive —
needles, thread, pins, buttons, tape, and yarn, together
with little papers of pepper, ginger, cloves, even tea,
and sugar, and tobacco ; and in all my hospital expe
riences I have never seen anything which has given
such real pleasure to the men. Those who were able
to move gathered round the stores in their wards, the
cripples of all kinds crept up and sat upon the adjoin
ing beds, each waiting for his gift. As it was handed
to him, he went to the bottom of it with the pleased
curiosity of a little child searching the stocking for the
gifts of Santa Clans on Christmas morning.
" Look at that needle-book ! "
" See my towel — just what I wanted !•"
" Jolly ! here's a comb : haven't had one since the
Weldon Railroad ! "

And one man, who had a felon on his finger, found
a little roll of soft linen with a box of salve — the very
thing he needed most. He retired to his bed in the

152 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

corner with as much quiet satisfaction as I ever saw
pictured on any face. One little flaxen-haired lad, not
yet sixteen, the skin of whose forehead was as white
and transparent as an infant's, yet very sick with
typhoid fever, said to me, as he looked up holding
feebly out his thread, and pins, and buttons, " This
will be my only Christmas present, — it is so nice to
be remembered."

The letters from the children who sent these things
were also a blessing to the men. One of these par
ticularly attracted them. After its contents had been
rehearsed to a little group, a hail was heard from a
distant corner : "I say, let's have it up here now."
A fine-looking man, propped up in bed, having lost
his arm, was chosen reader ; and as he spoke in a
full, clear voice, every eye was upon him, while men
were turning on their cots to catch every word.
When it was finished, cries of, " Good ! good ! "
" That's the sort ! " &c., resounded through the ward.
The value of such gifts in their influence cannot be
over-estimated in rough army life, where each man has
to look out for himself, and where he has everything
to drive away the more softening influences of his
home.

I have seen enough to make me believe in the truth

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 153

of that simile I have heard, that many a soldier is
like a September chestnut, — the outside is hard, and
sharp, and shut up ; but the inside is soft, and sweet,
and good. Now, the thing is to get at the inside ; and
I claim that if the shell was once cracked, and one
fairly reached the tender spot, recalling memories of
home, of wife, or mother, or little children, they would
forget their brutal games and coarse associates, and
show the tenderness and the gentleness which were in
their hearts, but which their rough exterior so entirely
concealed.

The washing for the hospitals was done by the con
trabands, the government, for such service, providing
them with shelter and rations. Their little settlements
were therefore connected with each hospital at City
Point. They flocked into our lines from the old plan
tations, — whole families, of three generations, — and
cast their lot with us. It was often a hard lot. At first
their encampment was composed of mere hospital flies,
hardly yielding shelter from the rain. Their cooking
was done upon embers on the ground, the smoke filling
their tents, which afforded no outlet. The discomfort
of this may readily be conceived. Winter came on
with no provision for them, and caused the sharpest
suffering. They were destitute of clothing and money,
7*

154 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

and were dying from exposure and neglect. I asked
one of them one day why he left his home. He
looked up at me with a simple wonder, saying, " O,
'case I couldn't stay dar no longer."

"Why not?"

" 'Case I wouldn't eat de worm nor take de lash.
In massa's 'backer-field de programme is, for ebery
one dat miss a worm in pickin' from de leaf, why you
hab to eat dat worm or take de lash ; I took de lash
rather dan eat de worm. So dey stretch me out on all
fours, and take de long brack whip, and cut de flesh.
Den dey cut de ground wid de bloody lash, and get it
full ob dirt, and draw de blood again ; and dat's de
trubble. I lub de missus and de chil'ren ; but de Lord
open de door, and dat was 'nufffur me."

In this rude camp, with all the privations of this
primitive style of living, there was no complaint.
With a simple submission to their lot, they accepted it
without a murmur. The attention of Miss Gilson had
been called to their condition, and soon comfortable
huts were built, clothing was sent from the North, and
their prospects brightened. These huts were built in
streets, were well trenched, and, if not always tight
and warm, were far more comfortable than open air
exposure. Some of them were extremely neat and

ARMY 0V THE POTOMAC. 155

pleasant, and the women took pride in their humble
homes. The work these women performed was of
great value to the hospitals. With a superintendent
to direct them, they labored faithfully. Eager to
learn, thankful for a word of encouragement, they
became accustomed to their new position, and were
satisfied and happy.

The influence of Miss Gilson was quickly noticeable

in the camp. Her word was law ; and as she moved

among them, illustrating and enforcing the plain duties

of life, its effect was seen in greater faithfulness to

their work, in kindness to each other, in neatness, and

gentleness with the children. She made them feel

that their religion was not for prayer meetings and

Sundays alone, but was for the wash-tub, for duty

among the sick, for bearing their burdens patiently —

a religion for work-day life, for all places and all

times. They were made to feel that they had hearts

and minds, as well as bones and muscles ; and that

while they were compelled to work for their daily

bread, they must also steadily improve their condition,

and be worthy of their freedom, by living true, devout,

faithful, and loving lives.

156 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

CHAPTER X.

ACTIVE OPERATIONS.

THE SURRENDER OP GENERAL LEE.

Grant's Closing Campaign. — Recapitulation of Movements. — Pe
tersburg. — Southside Railroad. — EwelPs Corps captured. —
Confederate Generals Ewell, Kershaw, and Custis Lee. — Their
Bivouac. — Woodbridge, the Georgia Soldier.

THE long winter of 1864-5 was passing into spring.
Through the apparent inactivity or' many months,
General Grant's plans were silently culminating to the
point of a general movement of the army. Sheridan's
cavalry had just finished the last raid in the valley and
on the James River Canal, and having been partly
remounted at White House, was now ready for the
grand movement to the left.

President Lincoln, the Lieutenant-General, Meade,
Sherman, and Admiral Porter were in council at the
modest headquarters of the armies at City Point.

The strength of General Grant's combined fore*}?

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 157

was estimated at 140,000 effective men, while that of
Lee was supposed to be not less than 70,000. It is
probably near enough to the truth to say that this
estimate was the groundwork upon which the cam
paign was based. The conception, execution, and
result of the operations which followed will probably
be considered to be by far the most remarkable and
brilliant feature of the war. With the evidence made
public up to this writing, there is enough to show that
the campaign was carefully planned, and as energet
ically carried out. One writer says, " The battles of
April 1st and 2d, south of Petersburg, were necessary
to the solution of the strategic problem. The object
was to gain a position on the right flank of Lee, in
order to force him not only to evacuate Petersburg,
but to compel him to evacuate it in such a way that he
would have to retreat by roads on the north side of the
Appomattox River. By the success of these battles,
Lee was forced north of the river, and Grant gained a
route to Burksville Junction, the point to which Lee
intended to retreat, running parallel to that of the
rebels, separated from them, a great part of the dis
tance, by a river much shorter and without any natural
obstructions such as lay in Lee's way. Lee had to
retreat by the longer route, which was practically made

158 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

still longer by the necessity of recrossing the Appo-
mattox. The consequence was, that Grant not only
reached Burksville Junction by the time Lee reached
Amelia Court House, and interposed himself as an
impassable barrier to the junction of Johnson and Lee,
but also continually presented a force between Lee and
Lynchburg. By keeping this force ' thus heading Lee
off,' while at the same time he continually attacked
him in flank and rear, Grant forced him, on the sev
enth day, to surrender his whole force. From the
moment of occupying Burksville, Grant held Lee in a
position from which, if defeated in battle, he had no
line of retreat. He was forced to make a stand in a
position in which, had he given battle, he would have
been forced to an unconditional surrender or equally
disastrous dispersion."

The significance, therefore, of the following letter,
which Grant addressed to Lee, will be at once appre
ciated : " The result of the last week must convince
you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the
part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this strug
gle. I feel that it is so, and regard it as my duty to
shift from myself the responsibility of any further
effusion of blood, by asking of you the surrender of

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 159

that portion of the Confederate States Army known as
the Army of Northern Virginia."

It is well known that the army, by a well-directed
assault upon the rebel position in front of Petersburg,
carried their works on Sunday morning, April 1, and
entered that city in triumph on that day. The aban
donment of Richmond followed immediately, as well
as the evacuation of all its defences ; and the rebel
army was rapidly moved in a southerly direction, as
before described. Through Dinwiddie, Nottaway, and
Appomattox Counties there were frequent engage
ments, the enemy retiring in every instance, and leav
ing their dead and wounded in our hands. These
were scattered over sixty miles of territory, either left
upon the fields or hurriedly moved to whatever place
of shelter presented itself, so that along that bloody
track of war every wayside church, farm-house, and
barn became a hospital. The country was electrified
by the news ; and so elated were men's hearts with
the grandeur of the victory, that its poor, maimed,
suffering victims were for the moment passed by.
Few at home realized the suffering; yet I think it
had rarely been equalled in intensity during the war,
though of course it had been in amount. The medical
wagons were with the trains, which could not keep

160 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

pace with the movements of the army, and in con
sequence there was great destitution of supplies,

Dr. Dalton, then the Medical Director of the Ninth
Corps, was ordered to establish a hospital at Burks-
ville, and to gather in the wounded preparatory to
their being sent to City Point as soon as railroad com
munication could be opened. He reached the Junction
with no supplies, being unable at the moment to com
mand them ; but he took possession of every house
and shed, sent out his wagons foraging through the
country, and in a few hours had potatoes, flour, eggs,
poultry, pigs, &c., in abundance. He started a ba
kery, and had everything as nearly ready as the state
of things would admit by the time the wounded were
brought in.

The surgeons were with their regiments forty miles
away, and but few could be reached in the exigency.
A corps was therefore organized at City Point, with
orders to proceed to the front; and joining this I
started in one of the first trains which entered the
city of Petersburg after the evacuation. We passed
directly through the abandoned camps and works of
the enemy, saw their rifle-pits and fortifications, their
bomb-proofs, abatis, sunken roads, and excavations, —
all showing a high order of engineering skill, and

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.

a, perseverance which had proved well nigh uncon
querable.

The lower part of Petersburg was a desolation.
At my feet were the debris of the evacuating army :
a thousand stands of arms scattered and destroyed,
— gun-locks, gun-barrels, and bayonets ; the rolling
stock of their railroads hopelessly ruined, — cars,
wheels, bolts, and rails warped and twisted by the
fire. The town was apparently but little injured by
the siege, although it has been stated that eight hun
dred houses were more or less scarred by the iron
rain. A few buildings were entirely destroyed ; roofs
were shattered ; gutters, blinds, and windows torn from
their places, or bore terrible marks of the conflict.
The people looked pinched and hungry. They had a
pale, care-worn look, an expression of suffering and of
premature age, which was enough to show that the
war had been to them no pastime.

Moving slowly out over the Southside Road with a
heavy train of supplies, we passed Sunderland's, Farm-
ville, and Ford's Station, — the scenes of recent con
flict, — and reached Wilson's at midnight, where we
camped. While resting here a column of prisoners
reached the station, and went into bivouac in the open
fields adjoining. They numbered 8500 men and 8CO

162 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

officers, the corps of General Ewell, captured by Sher
idan's cavalry and the Fifth Corps. Their sick and
wounded were in this column, which had been marched
twenty-five miles that day over horrible roads. A
strong patrol guard was placed around their bivouac,
and, by favor of the officer in charge, I entered their
lines.

Generals Ewell, Kershaw, and Custis Lee, Tucker
and Semmes (of the rebel navy), witli other division
and brigade commanders and their respective staffs,
were in a group apart. Finding that strangers were
welcome, I sat by their fire talking of their campaign,
of the prospects of General Lee's escape, and of the
general crisis of the war, which all frankly admitted
was at hand.

Ewell appeared infirm and prematurely old. A
cripple, he moved feebly on crutches, and had the air
of a tired, worn-out, disappointed man. He took the
best view of his capture; said his men would not
fight, and that the war was near its close. The days
of old Stonewall Jackson were over, he said ; but he
believed that even with his inspiration, nothing more
could have been done. Speaking of the Richmond
conflagration, the results of which he had not heard,
he said, " I acted under orders, but regret that those

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 163

orders did not include Breckinridge, who should have
been thrown into the hottest of the flames."

Xershaw seemed a model soldier in look and bear
ing. Compact, firm, and self-contained, he had the
manners of a gentleman, and was, perhaps, the most
brilliant man of the party. a For two years I have
doubted the justice of the cause," said he ; " but my
social position would not warrant its abandonment."
Custis Lee was reticent, hardly courteous, haughty,
soured, and ugly in spirit. When the column passed,
one ambulance in the advance, containing this group
of general officers, and followed by the 800 of lesser
rank, I thought of the prisoners whom the Roman
generals brought home in chains to grace their
entry into the capital. There were the same proud,
defiant bearing, the same unconquered and unconquer
able spirit, the same stateliness atd arrogance, which
no disaster or defeat could move. Here, in these later
days, in this wilderness of desolation, where there ar^
but few witnesses of their humiliation, where thers
were no shouts of triumph, or paeans of victory,
marched these 800, followed by the 8000, with aa
proud a bearing as if they were indeed the victors,
awaiting the crowns of laurel and the plaudits of the
world.

1(54. HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

There was suffering in this bivouac which needed
instant alleviation, and a hospital was at once estab
lished for the sick. They were marching without
tents, and with but few blankets to protect them from
the rain. The storm had lasted a week ; the fields
were soaked with water, which also covered the sur
face of the ground — the only resting-place these thou
sands of men could claim. In groups all over the
closely guarded fields these prisoners were collected,
cooking their now liberal rations of beef and coffee.
Night after night they gathered round their camp fires,
sleeping in the soppy grass, chilled, and suffering from
the cold night winds of the season ; while scattered
all through the ranks were men who were in the
last stages of exhaustion by exposure, sickness, and
wounds. Foot-sore and weary came forward those
who were to go into hospital ; and I never saw so
utterly pitiful a sight as these poor, squalid creatures,
on fire with fever, racked with chills and rheumatic
pains, and emaciated by disease and want. Many
were too weak to stand, and were obliged to rest
upon the ground. Their condition seemed hopeless,
and for such numbers we had no hospital accommo
dations.

Among these sick and wounded men was one who

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 165

had attracted my attention, from his superior intelli
gence, his culture, and refinement, which were in
marked contrast to the repulsiveness of his outer garb.
His clothing was torn and threadbare, his pantaloons
in ribbcns about his feet, his hat without a brim, his
hair bleached and tangled ; and from a recent fall on
the march he was encased in mud. Holding out his
hand, which was covered with a stained and ragged
handkerchief, he addressed me, and asked if I would
amputate his fingers, which were badly mangled by a
fragment of a shell. The wound had not been dressed
since his musket was shot from his hands nine days
before, nor had the steel splinters, been extracted. I
removed the clotted covering, and found his hand in a
most offensive condition, so utterly neglected had it
been. The bones were uninjured, and with proper
care the h?,nd might yet be saved. The wound was
cleansed, and dressed with fresh lint and bandages ;
and as I was about to pass on to another case, he said,
" I am faint for want of food. Can you get me some
hard tack?" One of the guard at his camp fire cheer
fully took from his haversack his ration of uncooked
pork, and cut a libei-al slice, which he gave me with
some hard bread. I took it to my rebel soldier, who
ate it with an eager appetite and a thankful smile,

166 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

saying that if I knew what he had lived upon since he
started on the campaign, I could realize how near
starvation he was. Said he, "I had a pint of corn,
and for nine days that was my only food." But, look
ing back to a luxurious home, he said, sadly, " I have
not always been thus reduced. My home is in Sa
vannah. I joined a battalion of our young men in
1861, because I believed in the southern cause. For
three years I fought and suffered, a private soldier,
until at last my eyes were opened to the rapacity of
the leaders in Richmond ; and I have been longing for
the old flag again. There are but few of us left now,"
said he, " of those boys who went out in '61 ; and
when they get news of our last battle, there'll be
mourning in Savannah, for they were her choicest
sons. But I thank God the war is over."

His father, a devoted and consistent Union man,
now the collector of the port of Savannah, was at this
time in Washington. I wrote that Henry was a pris
oner, slightly wounded. A few weeks from this time
they were united, after this separation of years ; and
I had afterwards the satisfaction of taking them both
by the hand, and receiving their kindly attentions in a
northern city, where the raw pork and hard tack were
recalled as the most delicious of luxuries.

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 167

CHAPTER XI.

SUFFERINGS AT BUBKSVILLE.

Scarcity of Surgeons. — Scenes among the Wounded. — Engross
ing Experiences. — Overcrowded Sheds and Railroad Buildings.
— Amputations in the Field. — Wounded transferred to City
Point. — Suffering on the Trains. — Preparation for Death. —
Return of the Army.

THE surgeons with whom I started from City Point
established their hospital at Wilson's Station, as
before stated, instead of at the front, where they were
ordered to go. They had an ample hospital equipage,
medical stores and commissary supplies in abundance,
with but half a dozen patients, who had straggled into
their camp, while a few miles beyond were thousands
who were suffering for the very stores and attention
which they were sent to supply. The railroad was
uncompleted beyond Wilson's, and the trains could
not therefore run farther ; but wagon transportation
could have been obtained, and ought to have been
secured, in this pressing emergency of suffering.

168 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Leaving my companions, I pushed on alone to Burks-
ville with a few private stores, and found wagon and
ambulance trains arriving at the Junction filled with
these maimed and bleeding men. They came creep
ing slowly over the hills, as if to soften the agonies of
such transportation. Every shed and building was
filled at once. The men were laid upon the ground
under the shelter of brush, in freight depots, in the
open air, under extemporized roofs of rubber blankets,
the mud up to one's knees, and the moving from point
to point almost an impossibility. There were but few
surgeons, and these were overworked at the operating
tables, while three thousand men were lying in this
squalid suffering.

In two or three open sheds and in one railroad
building were six hundred men without even straw for
bedding, and no blankets to protect them from the
rain which soaked through these long wards of misery.
Dr. Richardson, who was in charge here, ordered milk
punch for the amputated cases, and they were soon
supplied. Several were dying ; and upon the spot my
brandy flask was soon in use, restoring two or three
sufficiently to get from them their names, and to write
some last message to their friends. In one row were
five men lying on the hard floor, all thigh amputations,

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 169

and all dying. Two of them were conscious, and
were able to gasp out some last words for wife or
mother, which were written quickly down, and the
letters despatched, telling how and where they died.
In a small room, partitioned off from the main shed,
were three hopeless cases, placed there that they might
breathe their last in peace, apart from the no:se and
excitement of this overcrowded shed — one with a
severe shell wound through both hips, another with an
arm and shoulder carried away, and the other with his
jaw and face terribly shattered, and his tongue half
gone. Men were sitting up bathing their own wounds,
when they could get the water, or were helping each
other, while there were meanings and cries for help, to
all of which it was impossible to respond. When the
more pressing wants were met, with sponges, rubber
basin, bandages, and lint, there was enough to do.

As I entered one of these buildings, from one end
to the other there were cries, " Doctor, O doctor,
come and dress my wound ! " " Mine, doctor, mine ! "
" Nobody ever comes to me ; dont* pass rr^ by ! " "I
shall die if I cannot get some water ! " " O, if you
only knew how I suffer ! " "Do dress this thigh," or
arm, or log, or head, — each one proclaiming his own
shattered frame, helpless and in agony. In another
8

170 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

shed were two hundred rebel wounded. A surgeon
of their own sat there and smoked his pipe, never
showing sympathy enough to dress a single wound, so
far as I could see, while our own soldiers acted as
their nurses, treating them as tenderly as they could.
One poor rebel, with a thigh amputation, lying in a
building with some of our own men, in answer to the
question whether he wished to be removed to the shed
where his own companions were, said, u We are all of
one family now ; these are my brothers as much as
yours ; let me stay where I am ; " while I could see
under his head a little Testament, which he had been
reading in this very hour of his suffering and loneli
ness, having the new revelation of that wider fellow
ship which I felt he was so soon to realize in another
world. In one corner was another dying man ; and
next to him one shot through both eyes, who prayed
for his release ; while others, who in their very agony
were crying, " Have mercy, O Lord, have mercy upon
me ! " were far beyond all healing.

After several days the railroad was opened, and it
was taxed to its utmost capacity in transferring the
wounded to City Point. There were long trains of
twenty freight cars, as closely packed inside as the
men could lie, and covering every foot of space upon

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 171

the top, with no blankets or straw for a wounded limb
or an amputated stump.

In this train was work for fifty pairs of hands.
Their wounds were throbbing with fever, and needed
the cooling of only one sponge full of water. There
were one thousand men ; they had been placed in the
cars in the early afternoon, and were to have started
before dark. Many would not live to reach City
Point, and their last hours in this jolting train would
necessarily be hours of keenest suffering. With cold
spring water I went through each car, bathing their
heated stumps. It was dark, and there were no signs
of starting. For hours they had been lying in this
state neglected, and upon every hand the men were
asking, " How long, O, how long, must we lie here?"
It was heart-rending to pass from car to car and see
their condition, to hear their cries for even a cup of
water to moisten their lips, or a drop to wet their
fevered wounds, and to see their silent appeal by the
holding up of undressed limbs. The surgeon in charge
of the train for whom these thousand were waiting
and suffering, was found at midnight in a comfortable
room half a mile off, enjoying a cigar and a game of
euchre. He was reported to the Medical Director.
Even this faithless surgeon would have been melted

172 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

had he seen their gratitude as the sponge was
squeezed, and the cold water flowed smoothly over
the stiffened, clotted bandages, softening them, and
reaching the wound, which was soothed and refreshed
by the application : " God bless you, sir ! " " O, this
is so cool ! " " I shall sleep now ! " " I hope you'll
never know the want of water?" and the like. The
men were hungry, and had had nothing since their
early dinner twelve hours before. I went up to our
tent, built fires, had large " containers " of beef tea
prepared, and gave a little to each, also filling can
teens, and supplying other needs of the moment. At
two o'clock in the morning the train started with its
living freight of shattered, suffering men. This was
hardly over before a long train of army wagons of
wounded, just from the field, reached the camp. Ba
sins, sponges, bandages, lint, and plaster were again in
requisition, and making a heavy draught upon the
medical wagons. Candles gave out, and we were left
in the dark. J-We had to do the best we could, the men
lying on the ground covered only by tent flies, which
hardly shed the rain ; and so we worked until morn
ing, dressing and feeding men who for five days had
been without either care or nourishment.

As the days passed, and the wounded arrived in

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 173

large numbers, more ample accommodation was pro
vided. Now a regular field hospital was established,
w:.th all its equipage ; the tents arranged in streets
were all trenched, and a new corps of surgeons took
charge, fresh and ready f:>r their work. The roughly-
constructed operating tables were in the open air, and
were in constant use. Resections, probings, and am
putations went on, and men were under the knife from
morning to evening, and often until candle-light.; The
days passed with lightning rapidity, so crowded with
engrossing experiences that days might count for years
from the abundance of life which was lived in them.

I have often been asked if men, under such circum
stances, embrace the opportunity to prepare for death,
when death seems so very near. My experience ac
cords so completely with that of an English gentleman
in the hospitals at Scutari,* that I am tempted to
quote his language, which is very much to the point
here.

" The hospital is only, after all, a part of the battle
field ; it is a crowd of those who have fought, and
who, fighting, have, through wounds or weakness, had
to fall back from active service to passive suffering.
They are still, as it were, in the ranks ; still on duty,

* Hon. and Rev. Sydney G. Osborne.

174 HOSPITAL LIFE IN 2 HE

to recover, to return, to die, or to be invalided at
home.

" Men in the field speak not of danger ; it speaks for
itself, and none are deaf to it, though none will act as
though they heard its warning voice. Men who for
many weeks have lived a life in which the only change
from the privation and watchfulness which undermined
their strength, was the call to action, one more deadly
than another, become so habituated to hold life cheap,
are so thoroughly wrapped up in the risk at which
they seek the honor of the profession, that, as in
camp, so in hospital, death is an ever-expected guest,
and few indeed seek to make special preparation for
its coming. When it does come to them on their beds,
it is still a soldier's death : a letter or two may be
dictated to a friend, some messages sent to brother
officers ; a quick, calm, distribution of effects at hand
made ; gratitude expressed to those who so kindly ever
support their brother soldiers in those moments : these,
with the brief services the chaplain can offer, form the
chief features of the last scene in the lives of these
brave men. It is a battle-field death just postponed
till the victim has joined in the hospital ranks."

At this time the army was returning victorious.
On the llth of April, General Grant and staff, with

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 175

three of his corps commanders, dismounted at Burks-
ville, taking the cars for City Point, having made in
the saddle thirty-five miles that day. They came iu
as quietly and calmly as if they had been out on an
inspection of the army, instead of achieving victories
unparalleled in their importance in our history, and
ending in that week the bloodiest war of modern
times.

On the 12th, General Sheridan, with his forty cap
tured flags, followed by his cavalry and artillery,
received the plaudits of those who could cheer them
as they passed. On the 13th, at sundown, the Sixth
Corps crossed the railroad junction at Burksville,
passed out through the hospital encampment, and
bivouacked on the hills beyond. They had marched
eighteen miles in six hours, over horrible roads, but
were all on fire with enthusiasm, cheering, always
victorious, and coining in almost on the run. The
Second Corps, and the Fifth, and the Ninth, with the
Army of the James, followed on, their work com
pleted, the problem of free government solved, and this
nation once more at peace.

176 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

CHAPTER XII.

PETERSBURG HOSPITALS.

CLOSING SCENES. THE FAIR GROUNDS.

Contrasts. — The Blooming Gardens of Petersburg. — Mr. J. W.
Paige, Jr. — His Work at the Fair Grounds. — Gangrene Ward.
— The Rebel Soldier. — His Sufferings and Death. —The Blue
Ward. — The Dying Marylander. — Edward Morley, the Mas
sachusetts Soldier. — Colonel Prentiss.

FROM the intense sufferings and labors in the over
crowded sheds and railroad depots at Burksville,
to the clean, quiet, and comfortable tents and barracks
of the well-ordered hospitals at Petersburg, — this was
the contrast which twenty-four hours brought me. Re
turning with the feeling that peace had dawned, that
there would be no more reeking hospitals, nor deso
lated homes, nor broken hearts ; and that even upon
these Virginia fields fruitful harvests would spring iu
the very track of war, — flowers even upon the bat
tle-field, — it will not be difficult to realize that in

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 177

Petersburg I could find refreshment in the beauty
and fragrance of its gardens, and rest in the quiet
seclusion of its groves of pines. It is a quaint old
city, entirely southern in its style and architecture.
The verandas covered with creeping vines, which grow
everywhere in magnificent neglect, were bowers of
beauty. Every shrub, and tree, and flowering bush,
from the rose and the magnolia to the orange and the
fig, had almost a tropical luxuriance, and the air w?.s
filled with the aroma. Many of the residences were
deserted ; and where they were not, we had cordial
invitations to enter at their open gates and pick the
flowers. The pansy, the violet, the narcissus, the
double-flowering almond, the exquisite wisteria, and
the lily of the valley, with every variety of buds and
roses, — these filled our tent with fragrance. All this
was an oasis in a desert of suffering. There were men
all about us who were at the very last ebb of life, and
before the night passed the light of the eternal morn
ing dawned for them. To lose one's self in the quiet
peacefuluess of such an afternoon was indeed a relief
after such a tension upon mind and heart.

At this point Mr. J. W. Paige, Jr., of Boston, was
in charge of the Sanitary Commission. In his tent
under the magnificent pines, which recalled one of hk
8 *

.178 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

favorite Italian haunts, and which gave shade to the
Fair Grounds Hospital, I found him engrossed in the
most laborious duties of administration. The incom-
petency of one of the agents, and the serious illness of
another, just then stricken down with fever, brought
upon him a wide range of duties. These he assumed
and carried through, with a quiet energy and self-
forgetting devotion. Obstacles were met and over
come. The relations between the Medical Department
and the Sanitary Commission were harmonized by a
quick perception and no little diplomatic skill, which
resulted in making both more effective than either
would have been alone. In the wards his gentleness
and skill in dressing soothed many a sufferer, while his
cheerfulness lightened many an hour of loneliness and
pain. Anticipating the capricious appetites of the sick
est men, there was no delicacy which the markets of
Petersburg could afford that he did not make to find
its way to the wards, daintily prepared on his little
stove in the open air, and taken to the soldier whose
feverish palate could only relish such delicate fare.

To avoid the dangers of a dreadful infection, the
gangrene ward was established in an ice-house, apart
from the main hospital. Here, where the most loath
some and hopeless cases were awaiting death, where

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 179

was every type of this horrible disease, was the scene
of many of his most touching ministries. Here were
limbs which could only be cleansed, not dressed ; am
putations where the flaps had been eaten away, and
the flesh was ragged and fallen from the bone ; wounds
into wnich the gangrene was making its fearful rav
ages day by day — a charnel-house, indeed, where was
opportunity for such service as is rendered at the bed
of death, when the sufferer is past all healing.

" Make them as comfortable as you can ; they will
see no hope this side the grave," said the kind-hearted
surgeon ; and however nauseous the air, or offensive
the work, our friend labored cheerfully on, making the
poor fellows feel that the greatest favor to him was
simply to permit him to continue his ministry. Thus
through the broiling heat of an early summer there
was this noble fidelity to his work, which won the love
and respect of all who were brought into relations with
him.

In the intervals of resting from little attentions to a
poor, lonely boy, a rebel soldier who was dying, I took
up pen and paper to write, while sitting at his bedside.
Let us look into the ward. The wound has just been
dressed, the hemorrhage stopped, the bottles, basin,
syringe, sponge, and water cleared away. He is

180 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

sleeping easily now. A bright-eyed, handsome, intelli
gent lad of seventeen, I was attracted to him by the
uncomplaining patience with which he bore his suffer
ings. He was in the Confederate army, but was one
of those who would never be called a rebel, bein"- a

O

conscript, and at heart loyal to his flag. He was a
Virginian, the son of a poor minister in one of those
scattered settlements on the Southside Railroad ; and
from occasional conversations I had gleaned scraps
of private history, which could only increase my kind
feeling for him. In September, 1864, working quietly
on his father's farm, a mere boy, he was seized in a
merciless conscription, and hurried to Richmond, where
he was placed in the ranks of the rebel army. He
was an only child ; and, although he confessed to
many short-comings, he knew that he was the only
comfort of his home, and told me of his mother's
grief when he went away. His wound, to all out
ward seeming, was slight, being between the shoul
ders, and hardly showing a bruise. The shell had
cut his clothing, and but just touched the spinal col
umn ; but it had, however, paralyzed the lower part
of his body, so that his condition was one of great
helplessness. A bed sore soon developed itself; and
it increased with such rapidity, that all thought that

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 181

his life was only hanging by a thread. As I stood by
him, he opened his eyes, and said to me, in the most
distressed way, " I cannot open my mouth ; " and,
upon examination, I found that he had the lockjaw,
to add to his dreadful sufferings. "An hour ago I
could laugh and sing," he said ; u but now I know
that I must die." The surgeon, being called, confirmed
the impression that his case was hopeless ; and we
determined that, at whatever cost, his last hours
should be undisturbed. Bay rum seemed to refresh
him ; and I bathed and rubbed his head, and chest,
and arms, the poor fellow expressing his gratitude by
word and look, saying to me, " You are the best
friend I ever had," and repeating it over and over
again.

After a few moments of dreamy repose, he opened
his eyes, and said, " Do you really think that I am
going to die ? I do not want to die." I told him that
his condition was very critical, and that we all felt
that he could not continue very long. " I have been
trying to make my mind up to it," he said ; u but it is
so hard, and I am afraid to die. I have put off my
repentance until it is too late — too late ; and now I
know that God will not receive me." I told him that
it could never be too late, and, if he really wished

182 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

to be forgiven, and would only open his heart to all
holy influences, that God would send his peace and
pardon down, and would receive him just as kindly
and as lovingly as an earthly father would if he were
to grieve or trouble him. He seemed to feel that God
never could care for him; that his face was turned
away, and that all his prayers and intercessions were
in vain. Then I tried to make him feel how large a
place there must be in the Father's heart for all such
poor, suffering children as he ; how rich and abundant
his merciful care ; how inexhaustible his love. I told
him that even the birds of the air and the flowers of
the field were not beneath his notice ; that not even a
sparrow could fall without his seeing it ; so that in
his own fear and suffering this Father was nearer to
him than any earthly father could be ; and that heaven
was open to him, and all sweet and blessed influences
were around him, if he could only receive them as
from a Father's hand. Then I repeated to him the
little psalm, " Bow down thine ear, O Lord, for I am
poor and needy," with, " The Lord is my Shepherd,
. . . and though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with
me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Then
followed Christ's invitation, " Come unto me, all ye

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 183

that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest ; take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I
am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest
unto your souls ; for my yoke is easy and my burden
is light." Then I repeated a part of the chapter,
" Let not your heart be troubled," with those other
words, so beautiful, so rich in their promises, " Peace
1 leave with you, my peace I give unto you ; let not
your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

And now, in that lonely, quiet hour, there seemed
to be a Presence which glorified everything about us
— a spiritual uplifting, a deep revealing, which the
repetition after me of the Lord's prayer seemed to
make all the more real. This was hardly audible to
any but ourselves, although in the ward perfect still
ness reigned, the men all vaguely comprehending the
subject of our communion.

Here was a young man dying. With strong tenacity
he held to life, shrinking from what he called his doom.
His distress of mind was such as I had never seen.
His old theological teaching had told him that he must
have a change of heart, or he could not be saved ; and
he was too weak to understand the process, or to know
where to begin, or what to do. He was in despair.
There was no sense of God's loving presence ; and so

184 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

he must die, feeling that the eleventh hour was too
late, and shrinking from his fate. I had never before
attempted to minister to such a case. In most pitiable
tones of distress he would murmur, " Lord Jesus, save
my soul ; " while in this great gulf of sorrow I could
only meet him with the Saviour's words, hardly trust
ing to my own, yet ever hoping and watching for the
incoming and indwelling of that peace which should
surpass all human understanding. And I seemed to
see it come at last, as the angel hovered over him, and
as perfect love had cast out fear. From a quiet sleep
he woke calm and perfectly resigned. Spiritual things
became more real to him, and he looked with a clearer
faith and a more simple trust to the end which we
all felt was very near. A day or two before, I had
written to his father to come and see his dying son.
Through the kindness of a soldier the letter reached
him, and one afternoon, just at dusk, he came. Al
though there was the quiet joy of their meeting, yet
in that sad place it was a sad sight to see this poor
gray-haired man — subdued, crushed by suffering, im
poverished by the war — sitting, hour after hour, by
his son, who was dying by the slow torture of lockjaw
and of the poison of his wound. The subtle fever was
burning his strength away ; and as the father watched

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 185

and waited with his boy, smoothing the hair upon the
pillow, wiping the drops upon his forehead, or fanning
him with only a scrap of paper then at hand, there
was so much tenderness in his eye, such silent, speech
less, tearless sorrow, that I could only leave them
together, — the son so happy now, the father so thank
ful that even this boon had been vouchsafed him, and
both knit together in this last communion and com
panionship of their lives. And thus the night passed
and morning came ; and as the hours wore on, he
seemed to suffer more and more. His body twitched
nervously with pain, his jaws were set, his limbs grew
cold, and his lips white ; but there was no more mur
muring. He lay serenely conscious that death was
calling him, and at last he answered the call, passing
through the valley without a struggle, leaving this
poor father to go back alone to his stricken and child
less home.

One evening, just at twilight, I went into our blue
ward at the Fair Grounds, Petersburg, to see a lad
whose condition for many days had led us to believe
that he could not continue very long. As I sat by his
side, and placed my hand upon his forehead to smooth
back his hair, he said to me, " Do you know, sir, that
I am looking death in the face ? " I could only reply,

186 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THL

" Yes, I know you are, my dear boy ; " for the re
peated hemorrhage of his wound had convinced me
that his recovery was beyond a possibility. He was
perfectly submissive and trustful. He was ready to
die, or he was willing to live, — as it should please the
all-loving Father ; and as I had seen, hour after hour,
an attendant stanching the blood which was trickling
from his wound, I could only feel that we were to
count the hours before we should have to lay him in
his grave. He had been a faithful soldier for three
years, and had been discharged. The old farm had
no charms for him ; and after the excitements of the
home greetings had passed, he went as a substitute
back to the army, receiving a large bounty at the
hands of the brokers. Then followed days of what
may well be termed sin. We need to throw a veil of
charity over this part of the story ; for although he
had wandered far away, he had fallen into the hands
of devils in human shape, who drugged him, and
robbed him of his money ; while all the time, in his
heart of hearts, he was true. And now he was suffer
ing, perhaps dying, for the cause he had loved so well.
He told me how deep his valley of humiliation had
been ; that his struggle was all alone ; that through
sleepless days and nights he had been praying foi

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 187

God's gracious, helping spirit, until at last the burden
had been lifted off, and now all-sustaining faith and
promises had been made real ; and the trouble, and
doubt, and terror of the grave were all lost in the
opening glory. When I went away, leaving him to
others' care, it was with the feeling that he would not
be a care to anybody very long, — hoping only that his
mother's letter would come, to bring its solace to him
before he died.

In such ministries as these the days were spent ; and
yet, when night came on, and left us to a retrospect,
there was the sense of how little we had really done.
Often hours would pass in sitting by the bedside of a
soldier, simply watching and waiting for a change ;
giving a sip of porter once in a while ; brushing a fly
off his face when he was disturbed ; shading his eyes,
or fanning him ; answering only when he spoke, and
keeping always quiet that he might sleep.

A fatal wound through the right lung had laid one
noble fellow low ; and his last hours were hours of
suffering. I had previously gained the young man's
confidence, and had learned his story ; and when it
had fallen to me to tell him that he could not live,
he seemed perfectly ready and willing to die, — being
calm, hopeful, and believing. He died almost in mv

188 HOSPITAL LIFE IX THE

arms, leaving his messages for loved ones at home,
which it was my duty to communicate by letter.

From his bed I go to that of another — a little boy
of but fourteen years, very low with chronic diarrhoea.
I had rarely seen such agony of suffering. The poor
little fellow, so wan and thin, his face so pale and
wasted, his vital power so nearly exhausted, and his
whole condition making such an appeal to one's ten-
derest sympathy, — so lonely away from his mother
and his home, — knew he was going to die, yet had no
conception of the change. He passed on as I stood at
his bedside.

And another case, Edward Morley, a lad from
Westfield, Massachusetts, lying in agony in a wrard
near my tent. His wound was a compound fracture
of the thigh. He was too weak for an amputation,
his hemorrhage requiring the constant pressure of a
finger upon the femoral artery, and the poor fellow
was suffering beyond all hope of relief. He was one
of the noble spirits of the army — a genuine soldier,
with as fine a face and as clear an eye, and with as
kindly and thoughtful expression as one would wish
to see. He spoke but seldom, giving but little expres
sion to his feelings ; but his thoughts were constantly
of those who would be left at home to mourn. He

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 189

was tranquil and resigned, and even cheerful at
times when a comrade came to his bed to talk with
him.

When I communicated the result of a consultation
to him, he simply replied, u Do not think that I am
afraid to die. At home I was surrounded by every
religious influence. Since my mother's death I have
had the memory of her love to keep me true, and I
know that she will welcome me up there." At his
request I repeated the psalm, " The Lord is my
Shepherd." Before it was finished, his large, deep
eyes opened and looked into mine, and tears formed
and rolled down his cheeks at the passage, " Though
I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil, for thou art with me ; thy rod and
thy staff, they comfort me." I felt that he was lean
ing upon that rod and staff, as he looked, in the midst
of all his sufferings, with a clear and living faith unto
the end.

He had been in the service four years, and was then
but twenty ; but the lines of suffering were cut deep
into his face ; and as he lay there so patiently, with
such sweet resignation to his Father's will, the whole
ward seemed to be lighted with the triumph of his
closing hours. He did not seem to demand my sym-

190 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

pathy, although he had it all ; he only wanted com
panionship, and he asked not to be left alone, but to
have me sit by his bed and watch with him through
the night. But he did not need even this, unless I
was to sit and keep a lonely vigil over his tenantless
body ; for of a sudden he died, hardly gasping, yet con
scious to the end.

In one of our wards we had an officer, Colonel Clif
ton J. Prentiss, of Baltimore, whose case was of such
peculiar and touching interest that it ought not to be
passed by. In one of the closing battles of the war
he was wounded through the lungs. When I first
saw him, he was brought into the hospital from the
field, as we thought, fatally hurt. At the same time
a lad, a rebel soldier, was lifted from the stretcher
upon an adjoining bed, with a thigh amputation, hav
ing been struck by a fragment of a shell above the
knee. This Union officer and this rebel soldier lay
side by side, not knowing that they were indeed own
brothers, and unconscious, in all that bloody strife
which had set its fatal seal upon them both, that
they had been striking the one against the other, and
falling but ten feet apart. And so, by some blessed
providence, they were brought together at last, — the
glance of an eye, or some well-known tone of voice,

AEMY OF THE POTOMAC. 191

making their recognition complete, which it only
needed the hand-grasp to confirm. In the early stages
of their wounds, two of their brothers — one of whom
neither had seen for eight years — came down to nurse
and watch with these other two, who were dying so far
from home. And through the months which followed
they were all united, these four, who had been so
widely separated, bound together by the ties of sym
pathy, and service, and brotherly affection.

And now they are both at rest : Billy — the kindly
impulsive boy — and his noble brother united, after
such a fearful separation of sacrifice and of blood, in
this last companionship of their lives, — both entering
the new home, where there is no distinction between
the blue jacket and the gray.

The younger died first. Day after day we used to
visit him in the quiet ward where he seemed to be so
much alone, for he had but little sympathy until he
was converted over to the old flag which he had for
saken. And when the memories of his home and his
early companionships came over him, and he felt that
even this renewal of old ties was still but a fraternal
estrangement, his boy's heart quite gave way, and he
begged for the kindly smile of this elder brother, for
the love and generous sympathy of their boyhood. In

192 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

a few weeks the exhaustion of his system was so com
plete that he sank rapidly away and died.

The brave and all-enduring colonel lived on, — every
breath a stab, and every movement of the poor frail
body like the tension and snapping of some cord of life.
Through many weary months he waited and suffered.
Life had much in store for him. He longed to be
again amid its peaceful activity ; yet he was always
submissive, and only looked to see what was the lov
ing Father's will. And that will was revealed at last,
giving him but time to say, "It is well ; I am ready
to go."

Enriched arid strengthened by discipline, — a true
growth from sacrifice and suffering, — his was a death
which has caused many a heartache outside the circle
of his home. His earlier years were spent in Mary
land, where he had all the advantage of the best cul
ture and training which his father's school could give,
which were superior, probably, to those of any similar
establishment in the State. The elegant accomplish
ments of the father, his careful discipline, his scholarly
tastes and habits, together with the genial influences
of his home, all joined in the ripening of a character
which it only needed such an experience as that of the
past four years to develop into a manhood at once

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 193

strong, harmonious, and beautiful. He was a devout,
earnest, and faithful man ; ready always for kind offices
for those about him, breathing a spirit of helpfulness
and service, when, by whatever sacrifice, he could do
anything for another. This spirit of self-forgetting
lingered about him to the end. Upon the little table
by his humble hospital bed lay his Bible, his constant
companion. The sharp discipline of suffering was not
without its heavier and darker clouds ; yet through the
gloom the light ineffable of trust and peace was stream
ing in, giving diviner beauty to the spirit which could
answer cheerfully to the angel's call.
9

194 HOSPITAL LIFE /AT THE

CHAPTER XIII.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

Effect of the Assassination in the Army. — His Character and
Position in History.

THE Army of Northern Virginia had capitulated.
Its last banner was lowered and trailing, its arms
and artillery had been stacked and parked, its organi
zation forever destroyed. General Grant had returned
to City Point, the war virtually at an end. The Army
of the Potomac was resting upon its laurels, with only
magnanimity for its old enemy, while men of every
grade and rank were freely living over old scenes and
fighting over old battles, mingling their common mem
ories of victory and defeat, as it had alternated, in our
history.

There was good cheer everywhere. The rank and
file of the rebel army, dispersing to their homes, filling
the roads and swarming through the fields, shared the

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 195

hospitalities of our soldiers, and were treated with a
kindly and liberal spirit.

It was at this moment that the triumph and rejoic
ing of the nation were changed to mourning and deso
lation. Abraham Lincoln was dead ! A great sorrow
clouded the bri £ -htcess of the glory which for the mo
ment had burst upon the people, and a nation was in
tears. The booming cannon, the craped and drooping
flag, the dirges of the bands, and the tolling of the
bells were the sounds and signs of national grief. The
army was profoundly moved. A reaction, which made
Confederate soldiers tremble, followed the assassina
tion, and arrogance melted into humility.

With all generous motives for those with whom he
had been contending, Abraham Lincoln could utter
these words, already embalmed in the memory of the
world : " With malice towards none, with charity for
all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see
the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in ;
to bind up the nation's wounds ; to care for him who
shall have borne the battle, And for his widow and his
orphans ; to do all which may achieve a just and last
ing peace among ourselves and with all nations."

And yet, with this gentle pleading for his enemies,
there was one standing at his side to strike him down.

196 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

Through Mr. Lincoln's greatest trials, through the
most perplexing periods of his administration, when
perils thickened about his path, I could only think of
the burden which rested upon his mind and heart. He
once said, " I do not know how this war will end ;
but I do know that, end as it may, I shall not long
survive it."

One who knew him well, said that he broke down,
time and again, under his weighty cares ; " his noble
face became haggard and weary, and nothing but the
strong will and the undergrowth of gnarled manhood
prevented him from going down to his grave." A
feeling of personal loyalty went out instinctively to
meet him. If there was blindness to his errors when
he made them, there was also the thought of the
unparalleled dangers and difficulties of his position,
of those graver problems of public policy, for which
there was no precedent, which he was called upon to
solve.

The life of a Republic was in his keeping ; and
although an unknown, untried man, the eternal prov
idence of God was over him ; and from his simple
;;rust came the inspiration and the strength for the
fulfilment of his lofty destiny. His greatness, his per
fect balance of character, his wisdom, calmness, mag-

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 197

Tianimity, and tenderness of heart, vindicated itself at
last, and he won the world's respect and honor. A
faithful worker for his country's weal, persevering in
his task, true to his great trust, he wore his honors
with humility and prayerfulness. He ruled in truly
regal majesty, for he ruled in justice tempered with
mercy. His education, such only as the rough, pio
neer life of a wilderness could afford, was yet such as
to make him, perhaps, the central figure of modern
history. Devoting himself with singleness of purpose
to his stupendous work, he labored for the highest
aims ; and in working got but little of what most men
work to get. Still, he attained what but few men have
ever reached — the symmetrical development of pow
ers which in a great crisis of his country's life raised
him to be first in that country's love ; and he so
worked and lived, that in his proudest moments of
triumph he never forgot his humble birth, his hard-
handed toil, his sympathy with the people whom he
alw&ys carried in his heart. Such majesty with such
simplicity ! such power with such self-forgetfulness !
His natural dignity was mingled with unfailing play
of humor, while his almost grotesque ungainliness of
look and stature did not derogate from the nobility of
his manhood.

198 HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE

In the great and closing triumphs of the war he did
not forget the men who had achieved them. How
beautiful was the spirit with which he visited the
hospitals but a week before he died ! Standing at
every bedside, he had a kindly word and smile for
every man, speaking to every soldier in the camp,
and cheering them all by his genial presence and his
encouraging words. How benignant a close to his
public career ! With what reverence these thousands
of crippled men will regard his name, enshrining it
with all affectionate loyalty in their hearts and mem
ories forever !

It seemed as if, in the bolt of the assassin, the
national life received the last test to which republican
government could be subjected. Aside from the public
grief, the national functions were undisturbed. A con
tinent was draped in mourning, yet the vitality of its
government was unimpaired. In our history no event
had created such universal prostration. The loyal
North, appalled by the catastrophe, found expression
for its grief only in silent " going about the streets."
It was a day when the sun and the light, and the
moon and the stars, seemed darkened ; it was a day
when fears were in the way, and strong men bowed

ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. 199

themselves, and were " afraid of that which is
and the keeper of the house trembled.

It would be impossible to give in words the sense
of desolation with which we moved about our hospital
work, or of the profound emotions awakened by every
muffled drum and booming cannon. We had suffer
ing, and sorrow, and death all about us. But greater
sorrow and bereavement came to hallow the lesser,
while these mingled emotions served to chasten every
thought and feeling, and to make every duty more
sacred than before.

With the return of peace came the home welcome
to our sick and wounded men. Ward by ward was
vacated, hospital after hospital was given up, until at
last the dismantled barracks were all that was left of
the scene of our absorbing labors. Year by year these
marks of a great hospital department will be lost.
But the memories of calm endurance of suffering, of
noble hearts hushed in death, of precious companion
ships formed, and of strong characters ripened in great
emergencies, will ever yield a grateful blessing upon
the services and sacrifices of hospital life.

APF

JAN

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